


The Personal Musings of Miss Sasha James

by Thaddeus_lich



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, Cults, Eye Trauma, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Pride and Prejudice References, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaddeus_lich/pseuds/Thaddeus_lich
Summary: After standing empty for a decade, Moorland House’s residents return to Longbourn, prompting Miss James to hatch a plan to expand her inner circle of friends. Romantic and platonic shenanigans ensue as the friends grow closer, until one day, the head of the Magnus household, Mr Magnus, sends Mr Sims off to study in London. Not long after, Jonathan is attacked in the night, and the friends must band together to track down his attacker, with varying degrees of success.This fic was made as a part of the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2020. Thank you so much to the incredible @ilana.draws on Instagram for the amazing artwork (see chapter 8) and my wonderful beta reader @amberbee112. You two are truly the best!!
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Helen Richardson
Kudos: 9
Collections: Rusty Quill Big Bang 2020





	1. The Blackwood Ball

If there was one thing that the Stoker family prided itself upon, it would not be their wealth, nor their status amongst the members of polite society, but their outstanding ability to host a gathering well received by all. 

Often in the weeks preceding such an event, the conversations around town would be alight with anticipation and delight, as it was seen as a rite of passage by all to be invited. Though balls were often held in the other manor houses, everyone knew that the Stoker’s evenings were unmatched. 

And so sat Mrs Stoker, most commonly called upon as Miss Sasha James by her peers, in the company of Mr. Jonathan Sims and Miss Georgie Barker in the back garden of Crowtree Hall. 

Although Sasha and Mr. Timothy Stoker’s marriage bordered five years, they pleasantly considered themselves to be dear, uninvolved, friends. Neither cared to become too overly invested in the other’s personal affairs, as their marriage held the sole purpose of being mutually beneficial in the eyes of their families. 

Mr. Sims and Miss Barker had been engaged for nearly three years, with no wedding plans in sight. Sasha was, admittedly, unaware of their current standings with one another, though she knew them to be generally on good terms. 

There had been one evening that she could recall in which Mr. Stoker spoke at great length with her regarding Jonathan’s anxieties on the matter of the engagement, though they had both been quite intoxicated at the time. She knew for certain that Jon wished to cause Georgie as little grief as possible, and as such, was quite hesitant to break off their engagement should any harm come to her reputation as a result.

Tim was in the process of explaining to the pair the intricacies of Sir Robert Smirke’s latest architectural endeavours when Georgie glanced to Sasha, who had long since dismissed the conversation in favour of studying a bird flitting gently about in a tree behind the two gentlemen. 

“Miss James, have you and Mr. Stoker yet had the pleasure of an introduction with the newest residents of Moorland house?” She asked, her laugh not quite hidden as Sasha startled.

She told her no.

“Mr. Sims called upon Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Lukas just the other day, and why, they’d hardly had the chance to settle in!” Mr. Sims looked away, evidently uncomfortable with the mention of his behaviour.

“You have, once again, failed to mention _your_ anticipation at the prospect of an invitation.”

“Miss Barker,” Mr. Stoker cut in, grinning widely. “I fully intend on making their acquaintance, though Miss James and I have been rather occupied as of late, her research stealing away any notion of a moments rest.” 

Sasha couldn’t help but laugh, as that could not have been farther from the truth of the matter; her work with the institute had little impact on her free time. Tim had been planning on calling upon them for the past week, but the pair of them had agreed, though it was by no means an easy decision, to wait until the Moorland residents were quite comfortable, as it was rumoured for them to be quite detached from the rest of society. The pair feared an introduction too soon would sour their relations before they had the opportunity to begin any. 

“My apologies, Mr. Stoker,” Georgie paused for a moment, considering something. “Though, I do recall Mr. Sims mentioning Mr. Blackwood’s intentions of hosting a ball in a month’s time. You would do well not to displease them so soon with your reluctance to meet.”

Tim simply chuckled in response, dismissing the notion completely. 

There was a slight lull in the conversation until Tim spoke, eyes alight with bemused curiosity. “Mr. Sims, I must ask. What drew you to Moorland so soon after the pair arrived? If I am not at all mistaken, you are frequently the last to make yourself known to a group” 

_Though your presence speaks louder than your words on occasion_ Sasha thought, breathing out a gentle sigh.

Mr. Sims glanced down at his cup, “I admit this in confidence to you, but it was my uncle who recommended the visit. I truly held no strong desire to make their acquaintance so quickly, but I was told it would be best for the continued support of the Institute. Are you aware that the Lukas’ have been both generous donors and patrons since its inception?” 

The group had not known, though the fact hardly surprised Sasha, who had previously been making frequent use of the Institute’s vast libraries and collections. She had noticed the Lukas crest decorating their many contributions at that time, though she hadn’t paid it all too much mind. 

Sasha had also, more recently, taken upon herself a role in research at the Institute, now quite often spending her time there. The role had, admittedly, taken a portion of Sasha’s time, though she could hardly complain as it provided her with unlimited access to its resources, something she had been attempting to acquire for five years before then.

After a few further rounds of the topic, Sasha turned to Georgie grinning. Tim and Jon had engrossed themselves in conversation with one another and were inadvertently ignoring their counterparts. 

“Miss Barker, would you care to join me in the drawing-room?” Sasha pondered boredly, startling Georgie from the teacup she’d spent the better part of the conversation toying with. 

Georgie smiled, glancing knowingly to Tim and Jon as she agreed.

——

Later that evening, the remaining members of the Stoker’s entourage had joined the four gathered friends for a meal. Situated around the table were Sasha and Tim’s close friends, Mrs Daisy Tonner and Mrs Basira Hussain, Miss Helen Richardson, and Miss Melanie King. 

Daisy and Basira had been wed for a considerable amount of time, and were practically inseparable, though they never failed to visit the others when called upon. Helen was a close confidant of Sasha, and Melanie a close confidant of Georgie.

The group had been well into their meal when the topic of the Moorland residents was brought up, this time by Miss King, who had been outspoken in her distaste for the Magnus head of house only moments before. 

Jon remained silent as she spoke, his own relationship not always the most enjoyable with his uncle.

“I don’t suppose he genuinely wishes to spend the evening with anyone, Mr. Lukas, I mean. He hardly spoke a word to Mrs Hussain when she visited them the other day!” Melanie gestured heatedly towards Basira, who nodded, mild frustration present in her frown. 

“It was quite unusual, though I suppose not all that unexpected,” Basira said, evidently a bit put out about the matter. 

Her wife nodded in agreement, an irritated shadow passing over her face. “Whether or not he was aware of your letter, he ought to have given you the simple courtesy of greeting you _in the very least_.”

Jon coughed lightly, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. While he agreed with the complaints thrown in the direction of Mr. Lukas, he had received the most explicit of instructions to maintain amicable standings with the gentleman.

The party continued discussing the newcomers in this manner until Georgie mentioned a shocking article of which she had recently read, at which point all thoughts pertaining to the behaviour of Mr. Lukas had fled their minds. 

“Have any of you followed the recent string of disappearances in London? It has caused quite a stir amongst its residents; the newest word on the matter detailing not only the discovery of a victim but the victim’s lack of eyes, _of all things_!” Georgie cried incredulously, observing the room with a grin, as if to assess the general reception of the topic. “I should endeavour to never come across such an instance of the heinous act myself, as curious a situation as it may present itself to be.”

Sasha hummed, intrigued by the grotesqueness of crimes. She had heard brief mentions of the disappearances at work, Miss Rosie following the paper with more rapt attention than she had witnessed from anyone in a fair bit of time, though Sasha had hardly known about the appearance of a victim.

“The investigators are positively confounded by the patterns, as it seems unlikely, with the rate of the attacks, that the culprit is working entirely alone!” Melanie agreed, before launching into a rant about the ineptitude of London’s authorities, of whom had made little progress in tracking down any semblance of a suspect, let alone observing any solid patterns between the cases. 

Sasha listened intently as the amateur sleuth discussed the potential connections. All but one of the victims, there being six tied to the mystery assailant, and as the discovery of a body helped to confirm, had been students attending any one of the Universities in London over the past three months. The victims held no mutual connections in status and had never once interacted with one another, though they shared the particularity of being young academics, who were quite alone in the world, having little to no familial connections to speak of. 

The conversations droned on around Sasha after that, the topic of the murder being quickly swept away in favour of more seemly topics. Sasha made a further note to discuss the situation in depth with Rosie when she saw her next. 

And to no one’s surprise, it was hardly more than three days later when Tim called upon the Moorland House residents.

——

Sasha had been in the attendance of many balls in her time as a member of the Stoker family and could cite few complaints, though equally few compliments, concerning the Lukas heir’s endeavours. 

Though this was no Stoker planned event, no self-respecting member of polite society would dare be seen not being in attendance of the Blackwood ball. Martin had evidently spared no expense in his preparations for the evening, the decorations second to none Sasha had ever seen, the musicians highly skilled, and the accompanying meal positively exquisite. 

Sasha spent the evening with Miss Helen Richardson, witnessing the finery of her surroundings. She had, until that point, never seen the interior of Moorland house, though it was highly spoken of by the eldest members of high society. It was said that the previous residents had held very few balls, keeping similarly to themselves as the new Lukas’ had, and being in attendance of such an event was an honour unlike any other. 

What caught Sasha’s attention the most that evening was the peculiar interactions between Mr. Stoker, Mr. Blackwood, and Mr. Sims. From her spot on the edge of the ballroom floor, Sasha could see the trio conversing as though they were old friends. They traded one another as partners twice each, spending the majority of the evening in one another’s company. Sims, who had previously been very rigid, refuting any and all offers to dance, had softened quite considerably. 

Dare Sasha have commented on Jon’s growing smile, as he seemed to be happier than he had been in years. She concluded that she would confront the trio on the matter later on.

Helen glanced at her lover, amused. “It’s quite honestly about time those two made another friend. I truly thought they would never offer their kindness to another.” 

“Miss Richardson, you and I both know quite well that the pair of them have been close for years. While I agree with you, it hardly seems fair to jump to conclusions.” Sasha said, the light mockery of her tone ringing through the air. “After all, they have only just met.”

Helen glanced at Sasha, a curiously puzzled expression gracing her usually carefree features. “Sasha, do you mean to suggest the possibility of a brewing argument?” 

She smirked, shrugging ever so slightly at the accusation. “Do you _not_ foresee it?”

After a moment, Helen nodded, her usual amusement returning to her eyes. “In that case, may I have the honour of this dance?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The pair spent the two subsequent dances together, before splitting apart in search of the now missing Mrs Hussain and Mrs Tonner. They could hardly wait to share their predictions regarding the fast friendships formed between the trio with the couple, though their chances of finding the pair were slim, as they had been perfecting the art of remaining hidden from others throughout the many years of their marriage.

——

As she moved through the crowd, Sasha was met with the jarringly clear eyes of Mr. Jonah Magnus, of whom she had very nearly crashed into. She startled back, attempting to cover her faltering steps with a small curtsy. Sasha hardly wished to make an enemy of the man, as she was quite keen on her continued access to the Institute’s research materials and had grown rather fond of her role in research. 

Jonah bowed his head to Sasha, exchanging a polite greeting before turning quickly to the man who had appeared at his side without her notice. 

Mr. Peter Lukas, for his fine clothing alone suggested him to be of such a status as to be the host, was seemingly at odds with his surroundings, a stark contrast to the air of ease in which Jonah carried himself. It was hardly any wonder that Mr. Lukas had been so curt with Basira and the others, as he was evidently very far out of his depth, most likely unacquainted with large gatherings such as that of his nephew’s devising. 

“Miss James, I do hope you have found yourself to be settling into your position at the Institute quite comfortably. I am certain that your eye for detail will bring about quite a few discoveries of note.” Jonah said, returning his attention to Sasha. “Do stop by my office soon; I have a new case in which I believe you to be an excellent candidate. And I am certain that you will be pleased to note that you will not be attempting to follow _another_ poltergeist this time.”

Sasha smiled, though she was startled by Peter who stood beside Jonah in silence. She did not like the man one bit and was more than pleased to run into Jon next, and this time, it ought to be noted, with considerably more grace. 

Jon was positively fuming, brows furrowed and eyes hard as he startled, not having seen Sasha moving towards him. He attempted to compose himself, though she could tell that something was occupying his thoughts. 

Sasha glanced up at Jon, curiosity colouring her vision as she spoke, deciding to inquire as to the nature of his mood. “Jonathan, what on earth did you do?”

Sasha hardly needed to clarify her words, as she had the deepest of suspicions that Martin, who she had noticed moving quickly in the opposite direction, had been on the other end of the conversation. 

Jon’s mouth opened quickly to respond, though they both knew he was in the wrong. “What makes you think it was something that _I_ said? Mr. Blackwood could just as easily have said or done someth—.”

Jon stopped short, slamming his mouth shut, suddenly aware of the fragility of his statement. Sasha crooked one of her eyebrows at him as if to emphasize her words. “I see your point.”

“Now that that has been settled, what did you say to him?”

Jon glanced down, embarrassment plain as day on his face. “I had no intention of insulting him, I swear to you this. I had simply commented on Mr. Lukas’ lack of willingness to partake in the evening's festivities. I was unaware it would be such a sore topic for him.”

“Have you apologized to our host?” Sasha said, amused though not at all surprised by her friend’s misgivings.

Jon shook his head.

“Do you intend to correct this misunderstanding?”

He shook his head once more, a look of exasperation painting his face. “I fear that I have irreparably shattered any hopes my uncle may have held of a partnership between us.”

Sasha’s face fell into a grimace as he spoke, thoroughly done with his antics. She was certain that Blackwood did _not_ , in fact, despise Jon, and it was all the more likely that he was caught off guard. Jon’s anxieties often got the better of him in such situations. 

“Then I fear you leave me no choice but to repair the damages you’ve inadvertently caused,” Sasha said, confidence renewing her tone. She then rather promptly left Jonathan standing in the sea of attendees, aghast and positively horrified by the notion of her doing so.

It hardly took Sasha long to track down their lovely host, who was standing a fair bit removed from the rest of the crowd, looking vaguely distraught out of a nearby window. She approached him, moving with cautious exaggeration so as not to startle her host in appearing by his side without warning. 

After a moment, Martin noticed her, smiling warmly as they greeted one another. They exchanged pleasantries and fell into a comfortable discussion, observing the people around them.

When it was time for the following dance, Martin was quick to ask Sasha’s hand. She accepted without hesitation, pleased to have distracted him from his previous mood. 

Once they were out on the ballroom floor, Sasha began their conversation in earnest, the sounds of the music nearby affording them a further degree of privacy. 

“Mr. Blackwood, may I inquire as to the contents of your conversations with Mr. Stoker and Mr. Sims this evening?” She said innocently, glanced at Martin in an attempt to gauge his response. 

His face darkened slightly at the mention of Jon, though he was quick to masque it behind a chivalrous smile. “We have shared the common pleasantries if that is what you wish to hear.”

Sasha’s expression hardened ever so slightly. That had _not_ been what she had been hoping to hear, and it was a blatant lie nevertheless. Had Jon’s previous behaviour not been indicative enough, Martin’s expression then surely was. Sasha decided to change the subject to a more agreeable one, for the moment at least.

“Surely you have had the chance to visit the park? It is positively radiant at this time of the season!”

Martin shook his head, responding with disappointment audible in his words. “I have, unfortunately, been quite occupied as of late. However, I do wish to make my rounds of it in the coming days.”

Sasha’s eyes lit up at this, a plan quickly forming in her mind, one that would force Jon and Martin to make amends. 

So as not to seem too eager to invite Martin, she began discussing the swans that frequented the park, how gracefully they glided from one end of the pool to the other, feathers glimmering in the bright summer sunlight. She spoke of the view, of the trees, and of the peaceful air that seemed to muffle the world around it. 

Martin listened intently at her description, becoming increasingly interested as she went on. 

The dance was very nearly over when she mentioned her intentions of visiting the park the next day following afternoon tea. Martin nodded at this, musing aloud the possibility of him doing the same. 

Sasha grinned at that notion, the pieces of her plan falling into place with ease.

“Mr. Blackwood, dare it to be too untoward of me to extend an invitation for you to accompany me? I am positively certain that Mr. Stoker would hold no objections to a guest at tea, and I have always found the park most enjoyable in the company of others.” 

Martin’s eyes widened slightly in shock at the invitation, though he very quickly nodded in agreement. “It would bring me great pleasure to join you both.”

And then the dance was over; the pair parted ways to find another partner, both eagerly awaiting the following day as the evening’s festivities came to a close.


	2. Confessions in the Park

“ _Tim!”_ Jonathan cried, throwing open the doors to the parlour unceremoniously. “Are you quite aware of what Miss James has done?”

Sasha and Tim glanced up from their books, both unfazed by the otherwise startling manner in which their friend had entered the room. Jonathan was known to disregard common social graces and did so even more often amongst close friends. 

The pair had been sharing a few words over the matter of Sasha’s plans, of which Tim had found to be a marvellous idea prior to their friend’s arrival, and had only concluded the conversation moments before. Tim had no opposition to bringing the two gentlemen together, if for no other reason than to avoid tense gatherings in the future. Unfortunately, there was little a host, even as accomplished of one as he, could do to remedy the tone set by two guests who were at odds with one another.

“Am I aware of the invitation extended by Miss James to Mr. Blackwood last night after you caused quite a disturbance?” Tim said, crooking an eyebrow pointedly at Jon, thoroughly unwilling to humour him. “If that is your question, then yes, I am well aware of what she has done.”

Jonathan sputtered at this, irritation snaking its way across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice had lowered considerably, anxiety betraying his frustration with the pair.“And you see no potential for any conflicts that may arise in him joining us?”

Sasha sighed at this, staring Jonathan dead in the eyes. “Do you mean to suggest there will be an issue with his attendance this afternoon?”

She had no desire to put Jonathan or Martin in an uncomfortable situation, but she’d suspected that an invitation would be the very least she could do to bridge the ever-growing gap between the newcomer and her friend. 

Jon paused for a moment, fiddling with his sleeve. “Miss James, I fear that I may cause more harm than good seeing him now.”

Sasha shook her head slightly at that, reluctantly forcefully in her tone as she responded. “My dear Mr. Sims, while I understand your anxieties on this matter, I truly believe that your fears are unfounded. You really ought to think more highly of yourself.”

Jon fiddled with his pocket watch as she spoke, lacking the words to respond. He glanced away as Sasha stood, composing herself before nodding to Jon in parting. She sincerely hoped that he would consider her words.

——

The Stoker’s second visitor of the day was a much more expected one, as Georgie called upon Sasha not long before tea. 

She entered the residence with an equal amount of fanfare, the most notable differences being her tone of awed anticipation at the discovery of what Sasha had been planning and the anxious way she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Once her initial questions were settled, the usual pleasantries out of the way, and Georgie and Sasha were seated comfortably in the garden, the conversation shifted.

“Miss Barker,” Sasha said, studying her friend, who had now gone silent. “Something appears to be on your mind, you look quite dreadful.”

They sat in tense silence, both knowing vaguely what this was to be about. Georgie had written Sasha a letter the night before, a simple request to greet one another the following day, and though she had given no specific details, Sasha had not been unobservant in recent months. She had felt the crackling tension in the air around them, noticed the uncomfortable shifts as the pair danced around one another, though she remained uncertain.

“Whatever is troubling you so is regarding Jonathan, is it not?” Sasha eventually guided, voice full of concern as she attempted to ease her friend into what would surely be a difficult conversation to have.

Georgie looked down, unusually anxious as she toyed with a portion of her skirt, appearing as though she could hardly muster the words in which she so desired to speak. 

Eventually, Georgie nodded.

“Sasha,” Georgie’s words were a whisper, apologetic when she spoke. “I have of late come to the realization that I no longer wish to marry Mr. Sims.”

For once in her life, Sasha was at an utter loss for words. She had observed her fair share of relationships, a few of which ended in such a manner, though the parties in question had never been all too close to her. Sasha was not the most comforting confidant at the best of times, however much she appreciated the display of trust. She typically had difficulty knowing how to respond, often reverting back to her own experiences in an attempt to emphasize, but she had no such knowledge to assist her now. 

And so, in lieu of responding, Sasha reached out, gently holding Georgie’s hand as she continued. 

“I dare not lie in some vain hope that the desire would one day return; had it been there to begin with I might have locked the wretched thought in the far corner of my mind.” Georgie’s words were rushed now, no longer the whispered confessions of someone fearful of rejection or reproach.

“Though I hold no ill will for him, I fear there is no love for Jonathan in my heart beyond that of a dear friend.”

Georgie continued on in this manner for a short while, checking Sasha’s face for any shift in expression, before concluding her confession. “Sasha, I wish to tell the others—Mrs Tonner and Mrs Hussain. I trust that they will know how best to proceed.”

Sasha agreed, and the pair prepared their invitations for the following evening.

——

It was not long after that Martin joined the four friends for afternoon tea, and though he was eager, he had not been expecting Mr. Sims to be in attendance. 

They sat in the greenhouse, watching as dark clouds formed steadily in the distance, though the friends hardly paid them any mind, as it was unlikely they would interrupt their plans.

“Mr. Blackwood, I must ask,” Georgie said, grinning conspiratorially. “Have you been wed? If not, surely you are engaged, a gentleman of such high standings as yourself.”

Martin looked wholly out of his depth, his face flushing a bright rosy shade as embarrassment. Unlike the previous evening’s festivities, he had no crowds to disappear into, and nowhere to escape, and Georgie had a tendency to be very clear in her inquiries, something that had hardly changed since she was a young girl.

“Ah,” Martin breathed, grimacing slightly as he fiddled with his fork. “No, I am not bound to anyone in such a way.”

Georgie was positively beaming at this response, Jon’s eyes widening in silent horror as he realized what his fiancé might have been implying by inquiring of such topics. 

Sasha shared a knowing glance with Tim, an amused gleam in his eyes as they made eye contact, though a small shadow of uncertainty was clear in his expression. The pair had much to discuss once their guests excused themselves. 

After hardly a moment’s silence, Tim spoke up, changing the subject rather abruptly in the hopes of limiting Martin’s distress as much as possible, though the topic he chose was arguably no better than the last. “Miss James has been tasked with investigating the claims of potential unnatural occurrences relating to the recent attacks by the March Hare. She was asked by Mr. Magnus himself just this morning when she arrived at the Institute to collect a few files.”

Jon’s eyes lit up as the others’ leaned in closely, intrigued by the potential chance of obtaining more information about the case. He quickly expressed his pleasure at the discovery, congratulating her on the case that would surely keep her quite entertained.

“Miss James,” Jon continued, glancing around conspiratorially around the table. “Surely you must be able to share some of what my uncle has told you?”

“If only as a means of cautioning your dear friends out of harm's way,” Georgie added quickly, grinning. 

Sasha chuckled at this, quirking her head to the side as they pondered what she could tell them about what she had learned that morning. 

“Well,” She began, pausing dramatically as she replied. “It seems highly unlikely that the removal of the victim’s eyes–we have assumed that the other five have had similar fates as the newest–is fully detached from any esoteric uses, though we are uncertain of what such purposes could be.”

Martin nodded thoughtfully, eyes wide with curiosity. “Have you any suspicions as to a culprit?”

“It may be too soon to tell, but Mr. Magnus has suggested the possibility of a connection to the Cult of the Lightless Flame; a terribly private ensemble, deeply secretive, and quite exclusive.” Sasha continued, pleased at her new friend’s interest in the grizzly subject. “Though that is nought but a preliminary presumption, and hardly one worth putting much backing to. I intend on visiting the group’s figurehead, Miss Montague, in the coming week’s time. I eagerly await her response to my request.”

The group continued in this manner for a good while, until Sasha proposed that they begin their travels to the park. The others agreed happily, finishing up the last of their various snacks and refreshments. 

Tim proposed that they pair off into groups, so as not to scare the fauna, though it was evident that that was hardly his only intention. He wished to speak to some one member of their party or another in private, of who or what, Sasha was uncertain, though it was evident on his brow. The others agreed, as smaller groupings would allow for a more intimate feel, though surely they would also cut off the others from conversing with ease. 

Martin stood up before they could decide their partners, a pleasant smile gracing his features, with an air as though he had passed by a row of iris’, his anxieties long since having vanished from his thoughts. “I must admit, I was uncertain of your motivations when the invitation was first extended, Miss James. I see now that I was unfair to you all, and for that, you have my deepest apologies.”

Jonathan’s face lit up considerably at this before he composed himself, nodding his head sharply. Though he had been insistent in the fact that he would further damage his relations with Martin, it was clear to all present that he was as likely to do such a thing as complete an assignment for his uncle by the wrong date, which was deeply unlikely.

“Miss James, Miss Barker, if it is all the same to you, I should quite enjoy the walk in the company of Mr. Blackwood. I intend no disrespect in making such requests, though I fear we have much to discuss.” Jon said, a new air of confidence in his tone as he did. Sasha suspected that he was, like Martin, significantly less anxious than he had been previously.

Georgie gapped at her fiancé, more than pleased with this development. She nodded quite cheerily, glancing to Sasha for confirmation, as though she could prevent them from travelling together. 

Sasha agreed, stating, “I hold no objections to that arrangement, although—”

“Mr. Sims!” Tim interrupted, grinning like a fox. “Whatever shall I do to pass the time? I fear we have hardly spoken since your arrival this morning.”

Martin chuckled at this, Jon’s brow furrowing in perturbed confusion as the pair had most definitely spoken quite considerably since his arrival.

“Mr. Stoker, really, if the lack of social opportunities troubles you so, then I should be more than willing to join you in your travels.” Georgie piped up, her voice melodic with amusement, enjoying Jon’s confusion growing ever stronger in his expression.

Tim turned finally to Sasha, a mocking pout crossing his face in a wholly ungentlemanly manner. “Miss James, Miss Barker hardly understands the betrayal I feel, the twisting unease that fills my every breath at the thought of my dear, _sweet_ Mr. Sims being stolen away from me this fine afternoon.” 

“Miss Richardson will be joining us shortly, and as such, we may partner up in whatever manner we like. I hardly see any reason why the pair of them cannot go together.” Sasha replied, her deadpan tone very quickly breaking as she continued, teasing Tim. “I suppose you will simply have to witness their budding adoration for one another from afar. How terrible a tragedy the whims of fate have left to you.” 

Jon scoffed at this, though a pointed look from Martin caused him to quickly fall into a small coughing fit, which the gathered friends found to be quite entertaining as they entered their carriages to begin their travels to the park.

——

The park was a place quite unique to that part of Longbourn, lush greenery growing about in such a way as to create the illusion of being in the wilds, though that was hardly the case. Paths trickled around the trees bordering the water’s edge, leading further and further from where the friends stood. In the park’s centre rested a small pond, the waters an unassuming blue reflection of the sky, with weeds breaking the surface in a picturesque manner. The pair of swans mentioned by Sasha the previous night were there, gliding lazily across the length of the waters, unperturbed by the newly arrived audience. 

Helen had joined the group before they paired, going their separate ways into the twisting trails of the park. Jon and Martin were quite eager to be off, recalling the previous suggestions that their partnership would be most useful, with all thoughts of the previous evening’s dispute behind them. Sasha couldn’t deny that it _would_ be beneficial for the heirs to be friends, if for no reason other than to secure Institute funds in the future. For that, she could commend Mr. Magnus and Mr. Lukas, though she detested them considerably. 

Georgie was quite displeased to discover that Helen wished to accompany Sasha on her walk, as, when the pair inevitably disappeared, she would be left with Tim, and Sasha was, by all accounts, to be her chaperone, or, she supposed, at the very least, Miss Richardson herself could have joined her. It would have been best to travel in trios, though the two other gentlemen had already engrossed themselves in conversation with one another and had promptly disappeared into the flora.

Tim and Georgie walked with Helen and Sasha for a little while, before the two pairs split off, agreeing to meet with one another in three-quarters of an hour’s time further down along the path. Sasha and Helen let the others pass and began travelling along their own path, the park otherwise deserted. 

Helen was quieter than usual, her playful air having dampened quite considerably, though Sasha could point to no reasonings for it to have happened. 

When Sasha inquired about her health, Helen simply shrugged her off, dismissing her concerns without explanation. 

As they walked, Sasha brought up many topics of conversation, of which included, but were not limited to the previous evening’s ball, the scenery around them, and her newest assignment at the institute, though Helen hardly responded to the lines of conversation thrown her way by the increasingly perturbed Sasha. She kept glancing around, having no desire to observe any one thing for longer than necessary before her eyes flitted to the next like butterflies dancing fretfully across the wind.

The pair walked for a considerable amount of time before Helen got up the courage to speak. When she did, Sasha’s breath caught in her throat, startled by the urgency gracing her lover’s tone. 

“Miss James, I must speak my heart.”

Sasha stared into Helen’s eyes, pools of warmth in the mildly chilly air around them, searching for any indication of what could possibly be amiss. 

“Sasha, I have spent far too long considering and reconsidering what I intend to share with you. My words have since abandoned me, and I fear the worst of your response, for you lead a life of great comfort.”

“Helen, whenever can you possibly mean in saying this? What, pray tell, is causing you such distress?” Sasha faltered, concern growing steadily as her lover rambled on. She hardly had the chance to finish her question when Helen gripped Sasha’s hand, bringing their march to a sudden halt. 

“We—My dearest, Sasha, have you truly any fondness for the people around you? To Crowtree Hall?” Helen inquired, her words seemingly disjointed from her previous statement. 

“I’m sure I know not of what you are implying Helen, please, speak your mind. You needn’t speak your riddles with me.” Sasha was beginning to grow frustrated with Helen’s simultaneous attempts to evade and begin the conversation, and was starting to consider the possibility that she did not, in fact, have a direction for their discussion.

“Sasha, I wish to marry you. I wish to watch as time shifts around us from a window that is ours alone. My dear, I—I wish to leave this horrid place, never turning back as we find a home within one another’s embrace.”

There was a defining silence in the air as Helen continued, her confession disjointed and pleading, knowing full well that her lover dared not accept. At that moment, however, Helen could hardly be bothered in the slightest to care; her heart reigning victorious over her better judgements, until all at once, she had no words left to share, at which point she waited with bated breath for a response.

“Miss Richardson, do you know what you’re suggesting?” Sasha said, choosing her words with care. 

Sasha had long since stopped walking, having turned to look Helen in the eyes, too many emotions running rampant through her thoughts. She desperately wished to accept, to run off into the company of no one else, to have a home for them to share, but she knew that she could not. Her next words were harsher than she had intended.

“I have a husband. You know the intricacies in our relationship, and I am certain you are fully aware of my reasonings for denying this offer.”

Though her words rang with truth in the air, there was a great deal a difference between knowing that something cannot be, and acknowledging that matter. Sasha bit down forcefully against the inside of her cheek, a small scowl forming on her lips. She had not wished to cause Helen such pain, but the reality of the situation was that Sasha was married, and running away with her lover would result in a scandal the likes of which had yet to be seen in Longbourn for many years. 

Sasha would not dare ruin Helen’s reputation, though she suspected Tim would fare perfectly well in that regard. Her own reputation hardly crossed her mind at that moment. Later, she would consider the possibility that such a rash decision would, at the very least, have some degree of consequence for her as well. Furthermore, Sasha would have to forgo her position at the Institute, something she was wholly unwilling to do, least of all at the drop of a hat. 

There was no doubt in Sasha’s mind that, should she accept Helen’s offer, were they to make such a decision, they would require a plan. Sasha would have to tell Tim, and though she had little doubt in her mind that they would remain close friends, it would still hurt him in a way that she was unprepared to consider. She would miss the quiet evenings spent together in the library, coexisting in the comfortable silence of one another’s presence, and likewise, she would miss the energetic hours spent sharing one another’s newest discoveries, the time spent as one another’s confidants.

Helen had no plan, and thus, accepting her proposal would be a detriment to them both, regardless of whether or not Helen could foresee that. It was an unfortunate state of their lives that such changes had to wait, Sasha’s own desires to accept the request with open arms hardly holding sway in the decision then. On occasions such as that, dreams had to wait, and Sasha dearly hoped that Helen would remain by her side until she could join her in sleep.

“Helen,” Sasha’s voice softened considerably as she spoke the name of her dear friend and love. “I cannot run away with you, my duties to the Institute will not allow it, though I beg of you to remain by my side. We can be happy in our own way, should it be difficult– _especially_ if it should be difficult.”

Georgie and Tim came around the path, interrupting the pair’s conversation. Tim was speaking quite animatedly to a bemused Georgie, thought Sasha could hardly make out what they were discussing. When Tim spotted the pair, he froze, before running over eagerly, leaving Georgie quite aways behind him as he did. He waited until Georgie had rejoined them to speak, his voice hardly disguising his glee in the slightest. 

“My dearest Miss James, Miss Richardson,” he greeted, positively beaming; Sasha could tell now that he was, in fact, quite pleased about something. “Miss Barker and I have witnessed the most harrowing of experiences, a great tragedy, something positively _unspeakable_.”

Sasha glanced lazily to Tim, knowing full well that he was very likely exaggerating. He did not wait for a response from either Helen or Sasha, instead launching into a dramatized depiction of Jon and Martin being chased by a particularly antagonistic swan, which eventually resulted in the pair standing thoroughly drenched in the nearby pond, their clothes in a sorry state of ruin.

Helen laughed at this, welcoming the distraction from her and Sasha’s previous conversation, though it was clear to all that something troubling had passed between them prior to the return of the others. Neither Tim nor Georgie inquired about it, if only out of respect for the pair’s privacy. 

Sasha could almost guarantee that it would be brought up later by Tim in the safety of their home, and she dreaded the prospects of that conversation, still not entirely certain of her own feelings on the matter, let alone how she wished to respond.


	3. The Cult of the Lightless Flame

“Mrs Hussain, Mrs Tonner, may I ask at which point you knew you had fallen irrevocably in love with one another?” Georgie asked, eyes glimmering with contemplation in the soft light of the room, the sun long having settled beneath the horizon, as she clung to the words of her married friends. 

Sasha, Georgie, Daisy, and Basira had spent the better part of the evening sharing a drink with one another in the library. It was a welcome distraction, Sasha’s thoughts no longer swirling from the revelations of the previous day, her most recent research assignment plaguing her mind in their stead. 

Sasha had been busily working at the Institute for the majority of the day, focused solely on the task at hand, when she happened to glance at the clock. She had only been intending on being there for a few hours, at most, though time had passed her swiftly, and the day was well into the throws of the afternoon before she was aware of it. Jonah had given her a new file, one detailing the Cult of the Lightless Flame’s latest public sighting, hosting a ritual out in the forest, though for what Sasha remained uncertain. 

The file seemed perfectly innocuous, save for the stylized eye-like sigil inked carefully onto the inside edge. It had caught Sasha’s eyes, having never come across that marker in particular. 

Daisy stiffened at Georgie’s question, appearing to be slightly taken aback, though her wife was calm, nodding gently as if recalling a treasured memory. 

Basira was the first to speak as Sasha refocused on her surroundings, shaking her head in a vain attempt to clear the fog that now blanketed her thoughts, the sigil present in the back of her mind. She would have to make a note to discuss its purpose with Jonah when she had the opportunity.

“I cannot recall any one moment in particular, though I will never forget the day in which Daisy assisted me in finding that poor boy—Oh! What was his name? Crew, I believe it was?”

Daisy’s expression darkened into an embarrassed frown as the memory resurfaced in her mind. She studied her glass, attempting to erase the world around her in a haze of drunken musings. 

“I dare not forget the smile that graced your features when Sims and I escaped the collapsed cave system all those years ago,” Daisy started, tilting her head to look at Basira, whose face had fallen considerably at the reminder of that failed exploration, a mistake still dreaded by both parties to that day. “We knew it was an awful idea, though neither he nor I would allow the other to return so soon, intent on seeing out our assignment. I knew that you and I could never be parted after that day.”

Georgie grew sombre at the responses, nodding as the pair took turns discussing their favourite memories of the early days of their acquaintance. She would be hard-pressed to share a similar memory, should they inquire about one of Jon, as Sasha knew full well what purpose the question being posed served. Georgie appeared to be searching for a final confirmation of the validity of her feelings, and potentially a sense of acceptance in her decision. 

Sasha’s brow furrowed, no longer listening to the pair as they discussed their love for one another or some such related topic, her mind wandering back to the sigil on the file, almost akin to a signature or marker. It should hardly have been of any real note to her, and yet her thoughts continued to circle back around to its jarring air. The eye seemed to glare uncaringly and ever-present as she worked, searching the recesses of her mind as though it intended upon unveiling some secret or another, although Sasha supposed that was often what stylistically drawn eyes did.

Sasha was uncertain why the sigil pressed upon her thoughts as much as it had been, though she supposed that it hardly mattered, as it could very well have simply been a sketch, left unconsciously on the corner of the page, long forgotten.

“Sasha,” Georgie began, pulling Sasha back into the present once more, her eyes widened with distant concern. “Have you ever truly been in love? Mrs. Tonner and Mrs Hussain have spoken now at length regarding their experiences, and yet you have hardly shared a fraction of a thought.”

Sasha blinked slowly at this, downing the remainder of her drink. She told her no, though her tone suggested otherwise. 

Basira raised her eyebrows, not believing Sasha’s response for a moment, and seemingly, neither did the others, as they looked pointedly in her direction.

“I have never been in love; what else would you care to know?” Sasha repeated, a touch faster than necessary.

Georgie sighed in exasperation, stretching back into her chair in an attempt to situate herself more comfortably. “You, Mrs Stoker, have _never_ been in love? I dare say I’d sooner believe your words should you have told me that the Queen was to move to Longbourn.”

“Come now, _Georgina_ _Barker_. Might I ask the same of you?” The words were out of Sasha’s mouth before she could register what she had said, her breath leaving her in an instant. 

Georgie’s face fell, no longer the peaceful expression of a love-drunk fool, but guarded, cool against the warmth of their surroundings. 

“What does that matter.” 

The four friends sat in silence for a good while, no one wishing to be the first to break the definingly quiet tension. Sasha wished so desperately to take back what she had said, though she knew full well that she could do nought but beg the impartial universe to spare a more sober Georgie the memory of her words.

Daisy was the first to speak, her question practically whispered into the air around them. “Miss James, what have you been working on so diligently as of late? Sims mentioned your newest assignment to me the other day, though I hardly had the chance to inquire about it sooner.”

Sasha’s eyes lit up at the mention of her work, a topic she so rarely up until recently had the opportunity to discuss. “Mr. Magnus has signed me on to investigate a string of recent disappearances, presumed to be the work of a local group of occultists. I am unfortunately unable to share more than my preliminary notes, though I suspect there to be more to the tale than meets the eye.” 

_Mr. Magnus has a few odd habits himself, although, being a gentleman of such a status, he is perfectly within his right to_ , Sasha thought, chuckling slightly to herself as she continued.

“Now, mind you, I am informing you of this in confidence that you will not spread it any further than these walls, but we believe that the case may be, in some capacity, related to the uptake in activity by the members of one of the various cults having recently taken root in London. What reasons the March Hare may keep for this sudden and inexplicable change in behaviour—they have been more often known to plainly rid themselves of their victims without a second thought—we know not.” 

Sasha continued in this manner for a quarter of an hour, discussing the history of the cult, its ties to the other occult groups of days past, and the institute’s newest collection of related manuscripts.

After a beat, Georgie chimed in, however, she was hardly paying any mind to the conversation at hand, as she instead chose to answer Sasha’s previous question. “Miss King. I fear that I am in love with Melanie.”

Without another word, the fragmented pieces of the mystery that made up Georgie’s sudden decision to break off her engagement made sense. She could not marry Jon, as her heart no longer belonged to him, and had it ever, only Georgie would know.

“How long have you known?” Daisy inquired cautiously, a renewed sense of interest in the conversation.

“For as long as we have been engaged.”

Basira and Daisy glanced to one another, eyes filled with a mix of understanding, resignation, and guilt; the pair of them had once intended upon marrying to others, though they were quick to break off their engagements, knowing full well that they would not be content without one another.

“If he truly loves you, Georgie, he will dare not keep you locked away as though you are a songbird,” Basira said warmly, not wanting her friend to be trapped in a situation she had no desire to exist within the confines of. 

Georgie simply nodded, clearly still anxious in her decision. She pulled a small envelope from her dress pocket, studying it solemnly for a tense few moments, almost seeming to be unwilling to send it off into the world. Georgie looked up at Sasha, tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes, shining as brightly as the stars outside their window. 

“Sasha, swear to me that I am not on the cusp of making a grave mistake.” 

“I promise that this is the best decision you can possibly make given the circumstances. Miss King will be a wonderful companion to you; I know that without a shred of doubt in my mind.”

——

A few weeks later, it was announced to the public that Mr. Sims and Miss Barker no longer held any intention of ever being wed, and their engagement was properly broken off. Though it was on mutual grounds, Jon having previously spoken to Tim on the topic of his reluctance, the actual ordeal took quite the considerable toll on the pair’s lives.

Jon, who had often shied away from larger social gatherings around town, had found his invitations lessening considerably, though he hardly had the time to be bothered by this.

Georgie, the more social of the pair, had had an increasingly difficult time, many of her former acquaintances shutting her out in as respectful a way as could possibly be done. She spent a fair bit of time with Melanie, though the quieter nature of a more intimate gathering was hardly what she was accustomed to.

Sasha had been busy attempting to track down the location of the Cult of the Lightless Flame’s next victim, for that is who she had since concluded to be responsible, after spending that afternoon with Miss Agnes Montague. 

Miss Montague had responded to Sasha’s request to meet with a gracious acceptance, expressing her pleasure at the possibility to clear her cohort’s name of the heinous accusations directed their way. 

They met the following day at a small coffee house not far from the institute; Tim had joined Sasha on her way into the city, as he had plans that fell in line nicely with Sasha’s meeting. Tim left Sasha as she entered and he bade her good luck. 

Sasha dearly hoped that the investigation would be successful. Miss Montague had been known to be quite charming, though everyone knew full well not to earn her disdain for fear of grave consequences. 

Miss Montague was waiting patiently for her in the coffee house, having been nursing a cup of coffee in her absence, though Sasha was hardly late. The pair greeted one another and made themselves comfortable, exchanging the common pleasantries before moving on to the topic at hand.

“Miss Montague, Mr. Magnus has told me much of the success your company has found as of late, here in London. May I ask, how have you been settling in? I read in one of the files provided to me that you have hardly been here long at all.”

Montague nodded, musing as she responded, his tone warming the air as she spoke. “We have settled here quite comfortably, having been well received in the greater London area.”

Sasha hummed and decided to push the conversation further, having a plan should the conversation turn sour.

“In the letter, you wrote to me, you agreed to share more about the recent activities of your members, as there have since been speculations regarding possible connections to the activities of the murderer known to the public as the March Hare.” She summarized, before continuing on to her question. “Would you care to share a bit about what your membership entails?” 

“Ah,” Miss Montague began, considering her words for a moment. “Our members do their best to lead peaceful lives, though they are often spurred to action should they be wronged. We truly mean the people of London no harm.”

Sasha pursed her lips, Miss Montague’s response skirting around what she wished to uncover. 

They continued in that manner for a fair bit of time, Sasha ultimately learning very little of any use to her, save for confirmation that, should any of her members have taken any part in the crimes, they would be turned away without hesitation. Sasha was slow to trust this statement, though she would hardly do herself the disservice of openly calling it into question.

Miss Montague was unresponsive to the line of questioning regarding the Cult of the Lightless Flame’s occult ties, stating simply that: “We do not meddle in forces of which we hold no influence.”

After speaking to Sasha for the better part of an hour, Miss Montague excused herself, Sasha thanking her graciously for her time before she returned to her daily activities. 

Sasha then visited the institute to make note of her findings, waiting for Tim to complete his tour of the city before the pair returned to Crowtree.

——

In the meantime, as Sasha hurried about the city attempting to puzzle out the motivations for the March Hare’s attacks, Tim had been away quite frequently, spending much of his time with Jon.

Since the recent separation, Mr. Magnus had been keeping a tighter hold of his nephew’s time, pushing him to complete his studies in increasingly less time. Tim had spoken at length with Sasha one evening after he had returned home from Cunningwell House, detailing the impossible requests that had been made that afternoon alone. It was concluded without pause that Jonathan Sims was in desperate need of a break, if only for one night.

Not long after that discussion, a letter arrived from Mr. Blackwood. Within, he requested the possibility of the Stoker’s hosting one of their famed balls in honour of Jonathan’s birthday, a celebration to hopefully ease his stress. Birthdays, especially Jon’s own, were something of which he’d hardly seemed to hold any regard for, and something that Martin desperately wished to change. 

Tim, of course, was positively thrilled at the suggestion, having not held such a gathering in quite a considerable amount of time. It hardly mattered to him that Sasha would be unable to assist him to the same degree as was usual for them. They called upon Martin and drew up the plans, very promptly sending off their invitations. 

——

The ball in honour of the Magnus heir’s birthday went off without a hitch about a month later, and it was more than well enjoyed by all; nothing less would have been deemed acceptable of a Stoker event. Though the evening went without a fuss, Sasha observed a fair few odd occurrences, the most interesting of which could easily be narrowed down into three distinct moments. 

The first of such moments being Mr. Magnus’s sudden disappearance with Mr. Lukas. The pair had been enjoying the party, as any other guest could attest, when they inexplicably left before the supper dance. Sasha had noticed the pair leave and had attempted to follow them out, if only to sate her curiosity, though once they passed around a corner down the hall, they were lost to her. 

Sasha took a brief recess in her study, hiding away, if only for a moment, from the busy energy of the ball. Helen was there and her mournful eyes were simply too much to bear, though they had shared a dance earlier in the evening already. When she was making her way back to the ball, she ran into Lukas and Magnus, who had seemingly been standing just outside the ballroom for a fair bit of time. 

They greeted her as she reentered, complementing her home, though it was obviously by no means Moorland or Cunningwell. They had thoroughly vanished when it was time for the meal and did not reappear until long after the dancing had resumed.

The second highlight of the evening was when, after Jonathan and Martin had shared a reluctant dance, ending in the pair furiously parting as though they had never seen eye to eye, Mrs Tonner had a seemingly stern conversation with the former. She had followed Jon out of the main hall, at which point the pair sat with one another in the parlor, Jon’s face betraying his shame. They spoke for quite a considerable amount of time, and by the end of their time together, Jon was looking considerably calmer. Sasha was uncertain about the topics of discussion, though she suspected Jon to have once again been the culprit of their disagreement. 

The third, and arguably most peculiar portion of the evening, considering how they had parted, was when Mr. Jonathan Sims and Mr. Martin Blackwood shared a kiss. A few hours had passed since Daisy had spoken to Jon, when the pair had seemingly made amends. Jon and Martin spoke at length with one another in the corner of the hall, ignoring the stares of the company surrounding them for their lack of participation. 

Sasha had excused herself, intending on continuing her work before the night was over, when she happened upon the pair tucked away quite content with one another in a bay window down one of the hallways a fair distance away from the ballroom. This was by no means the most scandalous thing Sasha had unintentionally witnessed at one of their events, though how word had not yet spread about such things happening in the first place, she was uncertain. She made a mental note, fully intending on speaking to Jon about it in the coming days, and she wondered if Tim was aware of what had transpired. 

When she entered her office, the last thing Sasha had been anticipating being met with was a letter placed carefully on her desk, the ink not yet fully having had the opportunity to dry. She circled around her desk, sitting down reluctantly, before studying the swirling cursive of which she’d grown accustomed to reading in recent months.

_Had Mr. Magnus truly left the ball to write her a letter in her own study?_ It seemed quite unlikely, though she couldn’t be certain. 

Sasha picked up the letter, and opened it, gently peeling off the wax stamp that sealed its contents from her sight. The deep emerald ink swirled lazily across the page, as though Magnus had taken his merry time in drafting it, undisturbed by the potential threat of discovery. This status would hardly have afforded him much in the way of protections upon being discovered snooping about the empty rooms of Crowtree Hall on the evening of his nephew’s anniversary. 

Sasha read the letter aloud, the wine she had consumed at supper causing her thoughts to be more sluggish than usual, her mind not as acutely aware of her surroundings at all times.

_Dear Mrs Stoker,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, though it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the following. Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons, I am left with no choice but to remove you from your position at the Magnus Institute. It is my strongest desire that this be not the case, as you have been making excellent progress in your current assignment, but a grievous complaint has been filed against you, detailing your recent activities, trespassing on private property, among other offences._

_Should you wish to discuss this matter further, I would request that you meet with me on Monday when you return to collect your personal belongings. You will find a reference, negating any unseemly details, in your desk drawer._

_Do give Mr. Stoker and Miss Richardson my regards._

_Signed,_

_Mr. Jonah Magnus, Head of the Magnus Institute._

Sasha set down the letter with a start, her eyes trained on the symbol delicately inked onto the bottom of the page beside Mr. Magnus’ signature. She had seen this symbol before, it was the one from her files, and she knew for certain it was not the Magnus family crest. 

Sasha’s thoughts began racing, trying to process what she’d read. As far as she was aware, she had done no such things, and could even go as far as to say that she’d hardly gone anywhere besides her home and the institute in recent weeks. And she had been invited by Miss Montague to the coffeehouse, having had a puzzling, though hardly antagonistic conversation regarding his group. 

What Mr. Magnus could possibly mean by the suggestions in the letter were beyond her and she would most definitely be meeting with him sooner rather than later. 


	4. Living in London

The following day, Tim received word that Jonathan was to be residing in London until further notice. He had left without saying goodbye the night of the ball, slipping away amongst the sea of joyous guests as they parted. This had left both Tim and Martin quite distraught, for fear of their dear friend had not had an enjoyable evening. Sasha was disappointed by this, though the sudden news about her position left her very little room to fully process what had occurred.

When she went to the Institute the following Monday, Sasha was greeted with the smiling face of Mrs Rosie, who had for some unknown reason insisted to be called upon solely by her first name from the moment she had taken on a job as Mr. Magnus’ assistant. It was clear that Rosie knew not of Sasha’s sudden removal, though that hardly bothered her. Sasha was almost certain that Rosie would demand an explanation when she left in no more than an hour, as she had never seemed all too keen on missed goodbyes.

Sasha slowly ascended the stairs to the second floor in which her office rested, empty from a weekend’s break, and very likely empty for the foreseeable future, as Sasha suspected that it would be unlikely that Jonah had filled her role with the same haste in which he removed her from it. She began collecting her belongings, though she had hardly brought any with her in the first place. Sasha had fully intended upon bringing more than a few journals to her space, but the months very quickly slipped away from her, leaving her office mostly bare. 

Sasha sat in her office for a fair bit of time, a frown deepening on her brow as the hours ticked carelessly away. Rosie had given no indication of her possessing any knowledge of the alleged complaints against her, which Sasha found to be quite strange, as Rosie was quite aware of everything that went on at the institute, and so any such complaints that were filled would almost have had a guarantee of passing through her hands. 

Sasha started when a knock sounded from her partially opened office door. It was Jon, of all people, glancing around the room sheepishly. It was unclear whether or not he knew about the recent changes in her employ, though she doubted he would share much on the subject anyways, having a healthy respect for her privacy. Jon, if nothing else, was not one to share secrets that were not his to discuss. 

Sasha was about to say something, scolding him for disrupting her or some sentiment of that sort, when he cleared his throat. He spoke with a level of uncertainty that was quite unlike his usual air of anxious entitlement, stating: “Miss James, I should quite enjoy going for a walk together, when you have a moment to spare.”

Sasha nodded and hurried to finish collecting her things, having forgotten about the reason for her being there in the first place. Eventually, the pair left her office, Sasha choosing to keep her belongings there until she returned. 

They chatted idly as they walked down the hall, and Sasha turned to Jon as they descended the stairs to the first floor of the institute.

“Sims,” Sasha began, her curiosity ever-present in her voice as she spoke. “I must ask, how are you enjoying your time in London? You are hardly a great distance from us at all, and yet it seems as though you’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

Jon hummed, bowing his head slightly in agreement. “My studies have kept me quite occupied as of late, and I have little that I should endeavour to alter.”

They continued walking, turning past the entrance to the library, as they spoke.

“You mean to say that you miss Cunningwell?” Sasha confirmed, and Jon shook his head slowly. 

“I have found myself, when battling the throes of exhaustion, longing for the days in which we sat in the garden at Crowtree Hall. I should quite like to converse with Tim, should I have the opportunity.”

Sasha stopped short outside of Jonah’s office, remembering very suddenly the symbol watching her every move. Jon turned to her, confusion clear in his eyes as she hesitated.

“My deepest apologies Jon, but I have only now recalled that Mr. Magnus requested to speak with me this afternoon. May I have a moment? This should hardly take longer than a quarter of an hour.” 

Jon nodded, though he seemed more concerned than the situation ought to have warranted. Without another word, Sasha entered Mr. Magnus’ office. 

Sasha did not knock as she entered the head of the institute’s office, hardly seeing any necessity in the act, as her reference had been left safely in her study at Crowtree. She wished to know more about his reasons for dismissing her, though she suspected that no words shared on her behalf would alter his decision in the slightest. 

The office by no means a modest exhibit of Magnus’ wealth, fineries of all manners decorated the walls left uncovered by the rows of bookshelves and oddities cabinets lining the room. Magnus had been collecting artefacts and cursed objects for a good deal of his lifetime, and from the state of his office, he held no reservations in displaying his collection. 

“Mr. Magnus, I should ask that you forgive my sudden interruption of your time,” Sasha said, holding her head with as much confidence as she could muster at that moment, hoping that her resolve would not falter. “You wished to see me.”

When Jonah looked up from his desk, Sasha grew anxious. She had been silently hoping that he would be out, unable to speak with her about the matter at hand. 

“Mrs Stoker, you are quite late.” He said, observing her cooly as she sat in the chair across from him, not waiting for an invitation. 

“Mr. Magnus, pardon my forwardness, but I should like to inquire as to what grounds you have in revoking my position in research. I am quite certain that the reasons you detailed in your letter, which I will hardly touch upon the violation of my personal privacy, are blatantly false. I have done no such things as trespass, threaten, or anything of the sort.”

Jonah’s eyes grew quite amused at this, waiting patiently for his turn to speak, though Sasha knew that he had no need to. This unsettled her deeply, though she continued.

He cut her off a moment later, though she had begun to run out of things to say.

“Mrs Stoker, I must ask why you feel so inclined as to lie to me.”

Sasha gapped at the small man before her, aghast at his lack of civility. He began to detail every account against her, and Sasha had positively no idea what he was on about. She had never once stolen materials from the library, never encroached upon the privacy of a patron or another member of the staff, never tampered with their investigations, and yet Mr. Magnus droned on, informing Sasha of a past that she had never known. The only person in which she had interacted regarding the investigation proper was Miss Montague, whom she had had nothing but a pleasant conversation with.

He went on in this manner for a considerable time, plenty long enough for Sasha to tune him out completely, her eyes scanning the rows of books, until a small symbol, etched messily into one of the spines near his right shoulder, caught her attention. Sasha had to squint a bit to make it out, but once she did, it was unmistakably the sigil signed at the bottom of her letter. 

She may have never intentionally done anything unsavoury in her professional life before, but Sasha had the strongest desire to observe the content of the tome. She would acquire it however she was able, Mr. Magnus be damned.

“Mrs Stoker, do you understand the severity of your actions? I could just as easily turn you out onto the street, revoking any claims to your reference.” Mr. Magnus demanded, though his voice remained a steady calm, unsettlingly to any who might have chanced at overhearing the conversation.

Sasha gritted her teeth, the desire to argue her case warring with—losing to the necessity of biting her tongue. She would prove her innocence, disregarding, of course, her newfound plans of committing petty theft within a short while, as that hardly counted.

Eventually, Mr. Magnus appeared to have had enough of accusing Sasha of unfounded hearsay, who had long since tuned him out, and he dismissed her. Sasha left promptly, noting the location of the tome before she closed the door to the office. 

Sasha breathed out a sigh of relief once she was free of the confines of the room, hardly noticing the distraught expression of Jon, of whom had settled himself in a chair a little down the hall, intending to give Sasha a bit of privacy during the meeting, if nothing else. When she saw him, Sasha smiled, though her eyes were hardened with determination, and her words were measured, though Jon had no idea of the context in which they were spoken.

“Mr. Sims, if I do nothing else in the coming weeks, I _will_ find that book.”

——

Jon sent letters very near on the daily to both Tim and Martin, detailing not only his newest academic endeavours, his many, _many_ social blunders being in a more populated local, and his desire to return to his house in Longbourn, but frequently sharing wild tales of odd occurrences around the city. 

In a recent letter, Jon informed Tim of a mysterious figure that he had seen lurking about near the institute and in a few other places he had been frequenting in the weeks since he had moved. Jon was uncertain of the stranger’s motivations, though he expressed his hopes that it was simply a misunderstanding.

Martin and Tim had taken to calling upon one another with a strong desire to remain informed. Jon had, as they’d very quickly discovered, unwittingly allowed a few discrepancies to occur between his letters, and, while the pair assumed he had not intended on doing such, it did nothing to ease their anxieties for him. 

It was on such a day, of which Tim and Martin shared their letters in the garden, that Miss Richardson called upon Sasha. That was to be the first time they had spoken in private since Helen’s confession, and, though they had shared one another’s company in the meantime, they had yet to discuss what would come next. 

The pair of lovers spent the better part of two hours conversing, desperately attempting to piece together the remnants of their relationship, patching wounds whenever and wherever they could. The details of that afternoon were messy, disjointed, and otherwise, by all accounts, too personal for Sasha to commit to paper, though they would remain fond memories of her’s for years to come.

When Helen and Sasha settled the general matter of their future, though they were still uncertain of the details, they rejoined Tim and Martin, who had begun discussing the newest complication at hand. The two men paused, waiting for Sasha and Helen to sit, before continuing.

“Miss James, Miss Richardson; Blackwood has only just confided in me a most interesting development in his affairs.” Tim teased, elbowing Martin ever so slightly to punctuate his words.

Martin looked down, his face heated with embarrassment as the others looked at him, confusion clear in the air. He considered how to approach the subject for a considerable amount of time, before finally relenting, knowing full well that Tim would never let him hear the end of it should he keep it from them.

“My uncle has arranged for me to marry Miss Naomi Herne, who was engaged to be wed with my late cousin, Evan. I hardly know her, having only ever met in passing during family gatherings, though I cannot imagine what pain she must have been through.”

Sasha started, eyes widening in shock at the sudden revelation. Martin had never mentioned his late cousin, though, if she was, to be frank with herself, Sasha had never heard him mention _any_ other relatives with the exception of his uncle. The Lukas’, as she had learned very early on in their mutual acquaintance, were a very private family, who kept close company with few beyond their estates. 

“Have you told Jon?”

Martin shook his head, clarifying in a musing tone. “I was only made aware of this arrangement this morning. Had I have known…well, had I have known, I should have tempered my desire to befriend you all.”

Tim’s mischievous air fell at this, a fair bit more than put out about _that_ revelation. “You hadn’t cared to mention that fact when you informed me of this a moment ago.”

Martin smirked, and, though it was not the coy expression of Tim or the witty one of Sasha’s, it held behind it a playful jest, a simultaneously careful and carefree air of ease. “I do believe that it would have hardly had the same impact a moment ago, and nonetheless with no audience to observe it.”

The group burst into laughter at Martin’s uncharacteristically smug expression and proceeded to spend the remainder of the afternoon matched in a jovial battle of wit. They would discuss what was to be done about Martin’s new predicament on another occasion.

——

“Miss James, I believe there is something amiss in London,” Timothy said, setting down the letter he’d received from Jon only moments before. 

Sasha looked up from her research, both curiosity and concern decorating her brow as she hummed in response. Jon had left to study in London at the direction of his uncle no more than two months prior, and, though he had often detailed the strange happenings that plagued him wherever he went, he had never truly expressed any deep-seated concerns in such matters.

“It appears our dear Mr. Sims has been attacked in the night. The poor man awoke to the sounds of a window creaking open, thank heavens Sims is a fitful sleeper, as he was soon met with the glint of a knife in the moonlight. He mentioned feeling the attacker lunge at him, though by some miracle, he was able to throw the man off of him. He then escaped to the study, and locked himself inside until morning.” 

Sasha was aghast, for it seemed highly unlikely that Jon, of all people, would be the target of an assailant in the night, his status as the heir to the Magnus fortune or not. He was hardly one to announce himself to the world before him in such a way that would draw such attention. Sasha was no longer paying any mind to the open book resting discarded upon her lap.

Though, after further consideration, it was quite unsurprising that the young academic would become a target, the March Hare still very much at large. Sasha had been unable to do much in the way of professional research into the killer, beyond that of which she was able to find in the newspaper. There had been one victim in the time since she had been working at the institute, and still, the authorities had little in the way of any leads.

Similarly to when Sasha interviewed her, Miss Montague had made it quite clear to the public that her organization had absolutely no connection to the crimes, and had remained in London despite the growing tensions between the townsfolk and themselves. Sasha was still wary of the heiress, though she supposed that Miss Montague would hardly provide more information than she’d already offered. 

“When did this incident occur?” 

“The evening before last; Sims has since taken up spending his nights in the study, lest the attacker feels so emboldened as to strike once more.” Tim was pacing around the room now, panic beginning to settle into the pit of his stomach. “I should greatly like to join him in London, of course, though I must admit, I fear that something has changed in our relations in recent weeks.”

Sasha hesitated at this, finally being met with a conversation that she would have much rather not ever had. She had her suspicions as to the reasoning behind the sudden shift, beyond the obvious move to London. Tim had not needed to confess to Sasha that he cared deeply for the Magnus heir, she could see it in the way they danced around one other; in the way, Tim laughed a touch too long at certain turns of phrase, in the fondness in his voice when he criticized Sims. Sasha was well aware of his feelings for Jon, just as she was aware of Jon and Martin’s kiss the night of the ball. 

Sasha was uncertain if Tim knew, though she suspected that, had he been, he would have shared it with her the moment that the final guests had left. She knew that if he was unaware, bringing it up then, while he paced the floor anxious about the safety of his lover, Tim would be crushed. Tim would very likely do one of a few things. 

The first thing he would likely do would be to storm out, disbelief and betrayal plain as day on his face. He would storm over to Moorland, be it after midnight or otherwise, and demand to speak to Martin. As soon as Martin confessed it, Tim would rush off to London, neglecting to inform anyone or to pack a bag as he fled. When he got there, he would track down Jon, at which point the yelling match of the century would be unleashed upon the ears of the passersby. Jon would attempt to apologize, and Tim would very likely shut him down, still fuming, though very quickly running out of steam. 

Sasha mused that Tim and Jon would then sit in tense silence for an unreasonably long amount of time, unwilling to dare even look in the other’s direction. And then Jon would say something in an attempt to fix his mistake, and Tim would begrudgingly allow him to speak. Sasha knew that they would be on better terms by the morning, though she was not naive in the hope that the transgression would be forgotten so soon. Tim could hold a grudge like none other she had ever known, and she suspected that Jon would not be forgiven for a considerable time. 

Sasha concluded then that she had best not inform Tim, as he seemingly was unaware of the specifics of what had happened. It was not her conversation to have, and he was hardly in any state for her to saddle him with such a revelation.

“It would be my pleasure to confirm the good health of Sims.” She responded, considering only then the proximity to the Institute, and her desire to learn more about the sigil decorating her time in its employ. “Miss Richardson may be interested in joining me as well.”

Tim’s face lit up at this, having hardly seemed to believe that Sasha would assist him in this matter. He thanked her with such joy in his tone as she had not heard in months, if not long before they had been wed. 

Sasha reached out to her friend, pausing his joyous celebration. “Tim, do, pray tell, be honest with me; we both know one another’s distaste for games without a victor. Are you quite content here, at Crowtree?”

Tim looked away, and his lack of a response was an answer enough for Sasha.

“In that case, I may have a solution to remedy that.”


	5. An Attack in the Night

Miss James and Miss Richardson arrived in London two days later, having hardly had the opportunity to adequately prepare themselves for the duration of their stay. 

Their first order of business was to track down Jon, which, by all accounts, was easier said than done. Unfortunately, as the pair was quick to discover, Jon was hardly one to make his whereabouts known to the public. They had often taken advantage of the knowledge provided by their closeness with the extraordinarily secretive man.

Finding their friend took much longer than expected, but, once they found the right person to ask, they were able to track him down him with little further issue, hidden away in a mountain of texts, passed out from sleep deprivation. Sasha shook him, attempting to assess what they would be working with. 

Jon awoke with a start, blinking rapidly as his mind sluggishly followed after his body into the realm of consciousness. 

“Wha— _Sasha?_ ” Jon started, his words slurred, exhaustion hardly wishing to loosen its foggy hold over his thoughts. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Sasha chuckled at the state of her poor friend, recalling her days in his place; the late nights spent studying, books were strewn about the floor of her room, a cup of tea long since cooled beside her. Sasha supposed that was why she took on the position in research at the Institute in the first place, she missed her life in academia more than she cared to admit.

“Jon, and do be honest, for I will know quite quickly should you attempt to placate me with comfortable lies, when did you last get a full night’s rest?” Sasha inquired pointedly. It was by no means a feat to see past any facades that Jon put up when he was battling the throes of exhaustion, though she was hardly one to turn down the opportunity to tease her friend.

Jon stared up at her, the cogs of his mind beginning to turn with relatively more ease when he responded. “The night of the attack—I hold no doubts that Tim shared the letter with you?”

Sasha nodded, unsurprised by Jon’s reluctance to let down his guard in light of the mystery assailant running at large. She placed a hand softly on Jon’s shoulder, hoping to provide some semblance of stability in his recently unrooted life. He leaned into her touch, his usual rigidity still not quite present as he slowly awoke.

“Miss Richardson and I intend to be in London for the next few days. Please, do not hesitate to call upon either of us while we are here, as we will be more than willing to assist you in whatever you require.”

Jon nodded to them thoughtfully, opening his mouth to respond, before he promptly returned to the realm of sleep, his head crashing into a small stack of papers. Helen chuckled at this, as Sasha placed his coat over his shoulders, hoping to alleviate the growing chill in the air. Jon needed to rest, and she was positive that he would call upon them sooner, rather than later.

To be absolutely certain that he would not dismiss this as a homesick dream, she left a note on his desk indicating where to find their current residence.

——

Sasha and Helen’s second order of business while in London was one of which would require a fair bit more planning than the first, as they had the fullest intentions of stealing Mr. Magnus’s book if only to obtain a glance at its contents. They promptly returned to their suite in the hopes of distancing themselves from prying eyes.

“May I inquire as to your reasonings for wanting to steal this book?” Helen asked, glancing up from the meal separating Sasha from herself.

Sasha startled from her thoughts, a small frown pressing into her lips. She supposed it could hardly hurt to share a bit with Helen. “There was a sigil that had followed my every move while working at the Institute, and I am inclined to believe it may hold some relation to Mr. Magnus’ sudden decision to dismiss me.”

Helen nodded, and they continued eating, briefly discussing their plans as they did.

The pair waited until the sun had set before setting off in the direction of the institute, hoping to catch fewer stragglers as the night settled well and truly into itself. The walk was brief, their townhouse not too far out of the way from where the institute sat in stark contrast with the buildings surrounding it.

Mr. Magnus had gone out of his way to leave an impression, but he had neglected to consider the very real possibility of that impression being a less than ideal one.

Sasha and Helen crept around to the back of the institute, knowing that, unless anything had changed in the time since she was in its employ, the backdoor would be unlocked. 

The door opened without issue, and so the pair crept inside, careful to dim their lamp as much as possible. The back corridor was quiet, empty at that hour, as even the most dedicated of the Institute’s staff would have turned in at that point. 

Sasha and Helen remained silent, however, creeping down the halls towards Mr. Magnus’ office. There would very likely be one person keeping watch, though Sasha had reason to believe that they would be sound asleep, hardly needing to keep track of the empty building. No one ever tried to steal from the Magnus Institute; there was hardly anything worth the effort, and many believe the building and its contents to be deeply haunted.

Mr. Magnus’ office was locked, a frustrating inconvenience, but hardly one that would pose any real threat to their mission that evening. In the morning, Sasha suspected that the picked lock would be the least of Magnus’ concerns. She didn’t know what relationship the book and the symbol on the letter shared, but Sasha would be damned if she was unable to puzzle it out.

Helen knelt down, grabbing out her tools as she began fiddling with the lock. 

Once inside, Sasha rushed towards the bookshelf, frantically searching for the text in question. Where it should have been, there was an empty space, the book nowhere to be seen. 

“Helen, it isn’t here!” Her eyes flashed in frustration, positively baffled that, of all the nights they had chosen for their heist, the book was missing. “Please, search that cabinet over there, I will take the desk.”

Helen nodded quickly, frustrated by the setback, though not one to let it ruin their plans. She crept over to the cabinet, pulling it open as Sasha began rifling through Mr. Magnus’ desk.

In the first drawer, Sasha found stacks of unopened letters from a variety of patrons, the most notable being those from Mr. Lukas. As much as she wished to observe their contents, it would pose the risk of being too obvious, which Sasha worried would facilitate their discovery by the guard. 

She began searching through the other drawers, hardly finding anything of note, until she happened upon a false bottom carefully placed in one of the lower drawers. Her eyes lit up at this, and she called out silently, catching Helen’s attention. 

“Have you found it yet, Sasha?” Helen whispered, creeping back towards the desk to see what her lover was motioning to. 

Sasha shrugged and carefully pulled it open, revealing a variety of bizarre objects, among which was the book. She carefully removed it from its lodgings and placed the cover back into place. 

The pair then searched high and low for any indications of their presence, which they quickly concluded were hardly of any real note. They crept out of Mr. Magnus’ office and back around to the backdoor. 

Once the pair was a fair distance from the Institute, Helen breathed out a sigh of relief, excitement working its way across her features. When she spoke, her words were tentative, though clearly pleased with their work. 

“I can hardly believe that we managed that, Sasha. We found your mystery book.”

Sasha glanced over to Helen, pulling the book closer to her chest as they continued walking. She had no desire to shatter Helen’s good spirits, though Sasha herself had many doubts regarding the simplicity of their escapade. She settled on voicing these worries, if for no reason but to keep Helen informed.

“My dearest Helen, I fear that what we have done has gone, simply put, too well for comfort. I had suspected Mr. Magnus to have had, at the very least, some degree of security beyond a single locked door.” 

Sasha watched as her friend’s face fell, the thrill of their success quickly overshadowed by the realization that things _had_ gone rather smoothly. 

“What do you intend to suggest in saying that?” Helen pressed anxiously, her pace noticeably quickening as she spoke.

The pair was no more than a few buildings down from their current residence when Sasha noticed something amiss, her words drying up on her tongue before she could respond. 

There, in the dim light of the full moon and the glow of the windows of the buildings surrounding them, was Jon, leaning haphazardly against their front door. Sasha could see from where he stood that his breathing was laboured, his hand gripping the left side of his torso tightly. 

Helen gasped as the pair bolted in his direction, their concerns from before momentarily forgotten, replaced with concern at the state of their friend. When they approached, they saw blood soaking into the fabric of Jon’s clothes, his arm wrapped around his waist in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding.

In a hurry, the pair pulled him inside, not wishing for the opportunity to meet his attacker should they return. It took them a moment, but eventually, they managed to bring Jon inside, the foyer inhabited only by ghosts, simultaneously a blessing and a curse, as they gained the privacy that they had lacked outside.

Helen ran out to fetch a doctor as Sasha pulled their wounded friend inside, careful not to make him aware of the book hidden on her person. She sat Jon down on a chaise and helped him to remove his shirt, the wound a sharp line across his abdomen. Sasha had very little experience in stabbings, and so she began pacing the halls, anxiously awaiting the arrival of a physician. 

After what could have been no more than a few moments, though it felt as though an eternity had passed Sasha by, Helen and a physician entered the room. 

It took a fair bit of time, but Jon would be alright, as the knife had missed his vital organs, catching on his pocket watch to lessen the blow.

——

The following morning, Jon, who had stayed with Sasha and Helen for the remainder of the night, sat tentatively with the pair at breakfast, being interrogated as to the situation that led him to be attacked once more.

He had not known what was the cause of this attack, though he suspected that it was carried out by the same assailant from before. When Sasha pressed on, inquiring as to his whereabouts, if he had seen the figure’s face, Jon shook his head.

“It was dark in my room, you see, the moonlight hardly enough to see by and my candle had long since burned itself out.” He began, rambling off explanations for his lack of observation into the matter. 

“Though I could hardly glimpse his features, he cried out when I retaliated. Have I mentioned that? Before he was able to plant his knife so carelessly into my side, I landed a blow against his shoulder! Had he not been in the process of attacking me, I would have liked to have apologized.”

Sasha laughed at that, as the desire to apologize was quite unlike the Jon that she had grown to know and adore. 

Jon looked down, evidently perturbed by her reaction, though he chose not to comment on it. 

“Miss James, I find my thoughts returning to one detail in particular,” Jon commented, pausing for a considerable moment before continuing. “His voice was familiar. Though he never once opened his mouth to speak, when I injured him, his cry reminded me of a voice that I cannot place.”

Sasha crooked her head, listening more intently as he spoke. She was uncertain who, save for the March Hare, would wish to harm Jon in such a permanent manner.

The trio continued discussing the events of the night until Sasha piped up once more.

“Mr. Sims, Miss Richardson, I believe it is in our best interests to return promptly to Longbourn, for I fear we may not see the end of these attacks should we remain here.”

The others nodded gravely, Helen glancing once more at Jon, recalling the evening's events. They packed their bags promptly after their meal, having no desire to remain where they were in danger any longer than necessary. 

——

When the trio returned to Longbourn, it was very quickly decided that Jon would be staying with the Stoker’s for the foreseeable future, as Mr. Magnus was most displeased by his sudden return from his studies. He had threatened Jon, in front of both Tim and Sasha nonetheless, informing him that, should he hold any desire of keeping his fortune, he was to return to London without another word on the matter. 

Jon had, predictably, been quite shocked by that, though Sasha was quite acutely aware that he was hardly as shocked as Mr. Magnus was when he was informed that his nephew would _not_ be returning to his studies for the foreseeable future. Sasha held no love for the ageing gentleman, though his disappointment intrigued her. 

While these discussions went on, Sasha observed Mr. Magnus’ lack of desire to write anything down, something of which was quite out of the ordinary for him. She hardly had the chance to mention it, however, as the trio quickly left Cunningwell House, having grown tired of Jonah’s cruelty.

Tim and Jon spent the evening in one another’s company, discussing at length Jon’s experiences in London, his plans to eventually continue his studies, and what he intended on doing should his uncle truly go through with his word of renouncing Jon’s claim to the fortune, among other things. 

Sasha spent her time locked away in her study, the book she had stolen open to a bookmarked page. The contents detailed a ritual, one of which required a frankly absurd act as the lynchpin of its completion, with the supposed result of immortality. She had never seen such a bizarre ritual in her time at the Institute, let alone throughout the course of her life, though the annotations dotting the borders of the text left nothing to the imagination. A glance at the letter of termination confirmed her suspicions.

Mr. Magnus had the fullest of intentions of attempting the ritual, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was the March Hare–having previously failed the ritual or been practising, she was uncertain.

Sasha shook her head in disbelief, the mere notion of immortality a fantasy chased by those fearful of losing their hold of the world around them. She had no love for the concept, as the thought of living forever, losing her loved ones, and witnessing the unyielding force of time blowing past, left a sense of terror in her heart. 

Though it was an uncomfortable truth, Death came for all in the end, holding no regard for the vast monuments built to honour the accomplishments of the past, no regard for the legacies left to fester like open wounds left untreated. Death cared not for the fear of the world-changing without observation, for the dread of the unknown. 

And Mr. Jonah Magnus feared Death more than any one person of whom Sasha was acquainted. He would do anything to prevent the sands of time from slipping carelessly through his grasp, anything to prevent the signs of age settling themselves comfortably into his memories.

Sasha read the ritual silently to herself, frantically searching for any indication of what was to come.

The following morning, the proverbial other shoe dropped, as Jon, who had run off in the early hours to visit Martin, frantically returned to the Crowtree Hall. Sasha and Tim had just settled down for their morning meal, when he burst into the dining room, panting heavily. At that moment, he had no regard for any common social graces, his thoughts preoccupied so completely with the three words he spoke.

“Martin is missing.” 


	6. The March Hare

Sasha’ eyes widened in horror when Jon informed Tim and herself of the disappearance, having not even considered that Martin might be at risk of becoming involved in the mess of the past week’s events until Jon pulled a letter addressed to Sasha from his coat pocket.

“I found this in Moorland house, in the dining room, of all places. It was resting on top of the empty plate where Martin typically sits.” Jon said, his words shaking as he handed the letter to Sasha.

“The house was empty when I arrived, not a member of their staff, let alone a Lukas, anywhere to be seen. I will freely admit to letting myself in, though I was certain to wait a considerable amount of time before doing so, should they have been otherwise occupied!”

Sasha carefully took the letter from Jon, as though it would bite her upon contact with its surface. She stared down at it as Tim spoke, having remained uncomfortably silent for the past few minutes.

“Whatever can you mean by that Jon?” He cried, standing up from his seat in a flourish as he rushed over to his lover’s side. “Blackwood wished to speak to you, he can’t have gone missing! At the very least not without doing so first.”

Tim took Jon’s hand, trying to coax him into a chair, as he was shaking like a leaf, looking positively faint.

Sasha tentatively opened the letter, afraid of whatever secrets it held within. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as she saw the single sentence written in stark contrast with the overwhelming open amount of space on the cream coloured paper.

_It appears that you have something in your procession that hardly belongs to you._

Sasha gasped, frantically turning the page in a vain attempt to force her mind to rid itself of the memory of what she had just concluded. On the back, she saw the unmistakable, delicately penned symbol from Mr. Magnus’ book.

Jon and Tim spun around to stare at her, noting her distress as they leaned in close, as though they wished to observe the contents of the letter. 

When Sasha spoke, her words quivered in a horrible juxtaposition to her usual air of ease. “Jonah has him.”

Time seemed to slow at this, Jon’s expression hardening into one of uncertainty, and then one of anger, his mouth opening as if to form the words of which he had yet to think of. 

“What do you mean my _uncle_ has Martin?” Jon’s words were icy, guarded, though he knew Sasha would never accuse his uncle of such a dreadful act without sound reasoning.

Sasha looked down at her hands, curling and uncurling into fists as she attempted to process the shocking revelation that had been dropped upon them without warning. She sputtered for a moment, her words escaping her.

Instead of responding, Sasha stood and ran out of the room, the door hanging uselessly open behind her. She heard Tim shout out in surprise, having hardly ever seen Sasha in such a state of disarray in the many years of their marriage.

Sasha rounded the corner of the hall, hardly slowing her pace as she flung open the door to her study. She didn’t stop as she grabbed the book off of her desk, still open to the page detailing the ritual, before sprinting back towards where she had left her friends.

When she returned, Tim had returned to his feet, his hands outstretched as if to calm a frightened animal. “Sasha, please sit down, we can—”

“No!” Sasha cried, slamming the book down upon the table, gesturing frantically to the symbol on the cover of the tome. “He wants this back! I stole it while we were in London, the night you were attacked, Jon, and I fear he will not release Martin without it.”

Jon’s mouth dropped open, shock plain as day on his face. _"You mean to say that I stood outside your door, wounded, as you committed petty theft against the man who fired you only a fortnight before?"_

Tim burst into a fit of laughter at this, though his eyes were less amused, and considerably more flabbergasted. The two others gave him matching stern looks, which only helped in escalating his fit. 

“You—” Tim started, attempting to catch his breath between the nervousness bubbling up from his throat. He had to stop for a moment, being once again overtaken by the absurdity of the situation. 

When he finally was able to quell his reaction, Tim’s words were serious, a considerable shift in tone from his earlier attempt to speak. “Mr. Magnus has kidnapped Mr. Blackwood in retaliation for you stealing one of his books?”

Sasha scoffed, her frustration at herself from the past for keeping her friend in the dark about the whole situation bringing her blood to a boil. She would have to endeavour to be wiser about situations such as these, should they ever choose to become a recurring pattern in her life. Sasha desperately hoped that they would _not_ become a common occurrence. 

“When you put it into those words, it sounds terribly unseemly of me. Though I assure you I had my reasons. If nothing else, look here,” Sasha pressed, pointing to the symbol on the back of her letter. “This sigil has seemingly been haunting my every move as of late. It was in the letter I received from Mr. Magnus when he terminated my employment at the institute, and it is right there in both the book and this newest letter. I fear that I am missing some important piece in its significance; why else would it appear whenever something of great import happens?”

Both Tim and Jon stared at Sasha, attempting to process the sudden onslaught of revelations. 

“He has requested his book back. Jon, you,” She began again, frantically attempting to clarify her words. “You found this letter in Martin’s seat. That can hardly be a coincidence. I simply cannot, in good conscience, believe that these appearances are all unrelated.” 

When she finished, Jon nodded, though he kept his mouth screwed shut, unwilling or unable to share his words, Sasha could hardly fathom to guess. 

It was Tim who finally spoke, his tone having returned to his usual air of amusement, though the severity of his words confirmed to Sasha that he believed her. He would never doubt her. “What do you propose we do about this, Sasha?”

Sasha paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I believe we ought to return Mr. Magnus’ book.”

——

The three friends had been in London for no more than a quarter of an hour when they arrived at the Institute, having promptly returned in the hopes of tracking down their missing Lukas heir. The trio had quickly left Crowtree Hall, not wishing to delay for even a moment, should Martin’s wellbeing have depended upon it.

Sasha had no doubt in her mind that, if nothing else, there would be some form of indication, some clue as to Martin and Jonah’s whereabouts there. It was the only place in London that made any sense after all, as it was where she’d stolen the book from.

“A lovely day it is, wouldn’t you agree Sims?” Tim said as he glanced at his company, chuckling slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Jon shook his head, trying to hide his smile at the endeavour, though Sasha hardly seemed to notice, her attention focused solely on the book in her possession. 

“This time of year is often busier than most; we should hardly have any issues entering.” She muttered before climbing the steps to the front entrance. 

It had admittedly been a considerable time since Sasha had last stepped foot into the Institute during the daytime hours, though it felt as though everything in the atmosphere had changed. The usual light that filled the institute, however, dampened by the ever-watchful eyes of Magnus, was hardly present when they entered. Though the usual company was there, no one paid them any mind. Whether the tense feeling crackling like lightning in the air was truly present or simply a symptom of the trio’s anxieties, none could be certain. 

Magnus’ office was empty, the door left ajar as if in invitation, though they agreed to continue their search deeper into the building. It could hardly be that simple a task to find their missing friend. Tim stepped up beside her, Jon trailing not too far behind as they moved through the busy hallways, trying to figure out where on earth Mr. Magnus could possibly have hidden.

Eventually, the trio found their way down towards the archives, a place of which none of them had spent much time in beyond the occasional visit to collect or drop off files, though had all heard tell of the snaking tunnels under the building. Tim had been down there once as well, having gotten horribly lost while attempting to surprise Sasha while she was still a student.

When they arrived at the door, closed to ensure the documents contained within some degree of protection from the elements, they faltered. Mrs Robinson was pacing the centre passageway, blocking any semblance of an easy entrance into the space. 

Jon whispered frantically to Tim, bemoaning their horrendous luck, as Mrs Robbinson would surely not allow them to explore, let alone provide them with the directions to the tunnels.

Sasha shushed them, quieting the pair while they waited.

After a short while, she moved out of the way, storming off down one of the rows to the right, her voice calling out to a Mr. Shelly, who quickly scurried after her, disappearing from one row down another to meet her. 

Sasha and the others took that as their chance and rushed into the now partially deserted archive, quietly closing the door behind them. They hardly had long, barely moments to spare, as they rounded the hall, endeavouring to remain as hidden as three intruders on a frantic mission to save their missing friend could possibly be.

The trio had made it a considerable distance and was about to round a corner when Jon let out a soft gasp, his arm having brushed up against a vase, of all things, knocking it over unceremoniously. It crashed to the floor, shattering with a satisfying, though deeply horrifying noise. 

Sasha heard Mrs Robinson startle, just as she heard the steady footfalls quickly approaching their location. 

Sasha glanced around frantically, before spotting a door marked “Head Archivist”, which she gestured wildly towards. The three friends took off in a sprint, any hopes of remaining hidden now thrown by the wayside. 

By sheer luck, they managed to enter the office, which was thankfully left unlocked, as Robinson had likely been inside only moments before. They slammed the door shut behind them, and quickly attempted to form a barrier between the now very likely disgruntled Archivist and themselves. 

They heard a banging on the door, Robinson calling out for them to let her in, that she meant them no harm. Though that was very likely the truth, they had little desire to remain at her mercy, the fate of their friend resting on their shoulders. 

After a moment of fearful silence and searching, Tim whispered to his friends, pointing to a trapdoor hidden underneath Robinson’s desk. They very quickly entered, not wishing to know what would happen should the Archivist confront them.

——

Sasha, Jon, and Tim made it into the tunnels, having discovered the trapdoor hidden under Gertrude’s desk only moments before they were to have been discovered. 

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief, attempting to settle his nerves as the three of them were plunged into darkness. They had hardly considered bringing a candle with them in their haste to escape what surely would have been an uncomfortable confrontation. 

“I can hardly believe that this place has no lanterns, this is _hardly_ the seventeenth century anymore,” Tim said, poking fun at the lack of care taken to supply the tunnels with proper lighting. 

The three friends continued walking as they joked, hoping to lighten the mood in whatever ways possible, following the ridges along the walls, as they moved deeper into the labyrinth under the institute.

And then the trio happened upon a room, the glow of the lanterns filling the air with a gentle haze.

Tim opened his mouth to speak when a cruel, familiar voice sounded out from inside the room, its lilting tone unlike that of which Sasha had grown so accustomed to hearing. It reminded her of the way she had been spoken to in the office.

“No need to hide, I know you are there.” Mr. Magnus mused, as though he were a cat lounging lazily in the sunlight, content and perfectly in control of the world around him. 

Sasha cursed, having had unconsciously hoped that they would, at the very least, be able to sneak up on him. She looked to the others, trying to assess their reactions to Jonah’s words. 

Tim shrugged, his face settling into a more serious expression than she was accustomed to, and Jon sighed, nodding ever so slightly.

Sasha popped her head around the edge of the doorframe, hands raised in a sign of compliance. She did not want Mr. Magnus to do anything rash, least of all with Martin sitting between them, bound to a chair in the centre of the room.

When Martin saw her, his eyes widened, and he spoke, shaking his head frantically. “Miss James, please, you must leave! I’ll surely be fine if you—“

Jonah slapped him, silencing the room with the sharp sound of the impact. Martin gasped, blinking frantically in an attempt to banish the stars that momentarily clouded his vision.

“ _Mr. Blackwood_ , I believe that I have already explained that there will be none of that this evening. Surely it has not slipped your mind so soon?” Mr. Magnus spat, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he were scolding a misbehaving child. Martin attempted to scowl at him, opening his mouth to respond, though Jonah was quick to silence him, cruelly placing a round of cloth between Martin’s teeth. “Truly Mrs Stoker, it appears we have forgotten our manners.”

Sasha glared at Magnus, her expression hardening as she entered the room, the others trailing in slowly behind her. Tim’s eyes were alight with fury as Jonah spoke. 

“Like hell we have, Blackwood has no part in whatever game you and Sasha have taken up.”

Jonah chuckled at this, his eyes never losing their cool, analytical stare. “He has aligned his loyalties to you, though I suppose that hardly counts as a failing in your minds.”

Jon gaped, astonished by his uncle's words, before spouting an indignant protest.

“Please,” Sasha began, cutting off what would surely turn into an angry tirade before Jon could properly begin. “Let Mr. Blackwood go, he has played no role in our conflict.”

As she spoke, Sasha reached into her dress’ pocket, retrieving the book. Though she held it close to her person, Jonah’s eyes brightened. “Set him free and you may have your book without a fuss. You have my word.”

At that, Jonah’s face contorted into a wide, maniacal grin. He simply shook his head, a well of laughter bubbled up from his chest. 

“Is it not enough for me to have simply desired an audience? Although I must admit, I am quite pleased that you have chosen to join us, Jon, you _were_ my chosen heir, after all.”

Jon startled once more, caught off guard by his uncle’s words. “Uncle, whatever could you possibly mean by that?”

Jonah began to move then, walking leisurely around where Martin sat, eyes locked on his nephew’s fearful expression. “Did you ever wonder why I sent you to live in London, all by your lonesome? Why I refused your many requests to return? _Did you pause to consider why the eyes in the corners of your mind were so eerily familiar?"_

Sasha blinked, recalling Jon’s comments about his attacker’s voice. Before she could say anything, Jon gasped, reeling from the words of the man who had raised him.

“You— _Why?"_

“But then you ran off with the Stokers, a terribly unsightly thing to do, mind you. And to think, it happened so soon after your failed engagement. What the talk of the town you must be, having sullied your good name twice-over in hardly as many months.”

Jon staggered back, unable to process the words as Jonah pressed on. “Did you truly believe me naive to your recent…activities? Really, Jon, you ought to know me better than that.”

“How _dare_ you speak to Jon in this manner!” Tim shouted, his blood coming to a roaring boil as Jonah spoke. 

Sasha lifted her free hand, the other still gripping the book tightly against her chest, in an attempt to ease Tim, though he spoke her exact sentiments. Jonah, though he was Jon’s uncle, had no right to speak in such a cruel manner to his nephew. 

“Mr. Stoker, had I any desire to hear your thoughts on the matter, I would have asked.” Jonah waved a hand, dismissing his opposition. “Nevertheless, I no longer require your participation in this, Jon. Though I suspect that you may wish to say your goodbyes to Mr. Blackwood, as he will not be joining us for long.”

“Wha—Jonah, what on earth are you going on about?” Jon cried, frantically searching the room for any indication of what his uncle could possibly mean by his words. 

Jonah simply shrugged, a sinister smirk curling against his lips. He turned to a table, hidden behind where Martin’s chair rested and grabbed a small scalpel, the sharpened metal gleaming uncaringly in the dim light of the room. 

“I suppose you will have to wait a moment to understand.” Jonah crooned, continuing after a brief pause. “The initial extraction process will hardly take more than a moment, at which point I will request that you all afford our dearly departed Martin and I the respect of privacy, as I complete the process. I will be certain to let you all pay your respects, although I fear you may shy away from my generous offer.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha noticed Tim creeping steadily away from her side, their sights locking momentarily as she glanced over. Sasha was uncertain what her best friend was planning, but his almost non-existent nod was enough of a queue for her to keep Jonah distracted.

“Mr. Magnus,” Sasha scolded, putting on her strongest, most aloof tone of voice as she spoke. “Do you mean to say that you brought us down here, out of the comfort of our home, to deliver unto you a book that you no longer have any need for?” 

Jon froze, his eyes widening in concern at Sasha’s sudden attitude of nonchalance, Martin watching in silent horror at her words only a few feet away, Jonah drawing nearer with the blade. 

“Sasha! How can you say such things!” Jon sputtered out, his understanding of the world being flipped upside-down in an instant.

“Jon, do consider keeping your comments to a minimum should you have nothing of any value to contribute.” The sharpness of her own words wounded Sasha as she spoke, Jon’s face falling in dismay driving the knife in further. She needed to keep Jonah, who had paused at this point, his eyebrow crooked in amused confusion at her cruelty, busy long enough for Tim to carry out his plans. 

“Mrs. Stoker, do mind how you speak to my nephew,” Jonah mused, his attention turned away from Martin momentarily. He studied the scalpel in his hand, shaking his head in amusement. “You are being awfully unkind to him, and in such close proximity to a tragedy as well.”

“I fear we have delayed the inevitable for far too long,” Jonah continued after a brief respite, turning his attention back towards Martin. Jonah drew nearer to his hostage, raising the blade with a threateningly easy air and removing the cloth preventing his contributions to the conversation. “Martin, care to bid my nephew and his friends farewell?”

Martin coughed, opening his mouth to speak, perhaps to fruitlessly plead with Jonah, or to cry out to his friends, though none could say for certain what his intentions were, as Tim lunged at the killer, for there could be no doubt then that Magnus was the March Hare.

Jon gasped, witnessing the whirlwind of movement that followed Tim’s impact with his uncle. Without a second though, he ran to Martin, attempting to pull off the bonds that kept him in harm’s way. 

Tim and Jonah wrestled on the ground for a moment, and Sasha briefly noted that she had never witnessed either of the gentlemen in such a state of disarray as they were in then, though she hardly had a moment to fully processes this, as Jonah reached out to grab Martin’s leg, attempting to pull himself out of Tim’s reach.

He was unsuccessful, as Tim punched him squarely in the jaw, knocking his head back against the ground with a solid crack. Jonah coughed, his grin never fading as he addressed Tim. “I fear you must endeavour to do better next time if you’d like to cause me any _real_ harm.” 

Tim barely had the chance to respond when Jonah stabbed him, the eldest Stoker crying out in pain as the blade buried itself into his shoulder.

“Tim!” Sasha shrieked, rushing over to the pair, though she was unable to move close enough to do anything when Jonah stood up, brushing himself off dramatically. 

“Really Mr. Stoker, you had best keep a tighter rein on your emotions, you may be hurt someday by your complete and utter lack of control.” Jonah cruelly remarked, “Mrs. Stoker, you have done a very poor job at keeping—”

While Jonah gloated, Tim had managed to prop himself up against Martin’s chair, Jon having helped to stabilize him. He tackled Jonah to the ground from behind, knocking the blade from his grasp, the sharpened metal clattering to the floor by Sasha’s feet.

Jonah glanced up at her in horror as she scrambled to pick up the scalpel, attempting to reach out before she claimed it as her own. He screamed when Sasha stabbed the blade into his hand, adrenaline overtaking any reservations she may have had about attacking the man who had been muddling in her business for a considerable time. 

——

Jonah Magnus was considerably less active in society after that day in the tunnels under the institute. People speculated as to the reasoning behind his withdrawal, perhaps he had grown ill in recent months, perhaps he had grown weary of the world and wished to distance himself from the whims of common society, or perhaps he had simply chosen to delve deeper into his studies. Few, save for the four friends who had been there that day, could say what the truth of the matter was, and all knew how unlikely it would be for them to share it.

Sasha could recall one defining moment of that day, beyond the shock and horror at how far-gone Jonah had become, that stood out in her mind. They had been about to leave when Jon turned to Sasha, his tone filled with awestruck horror as he spoke.

“You _knew_ about Tim’s plans, didn’t you!”


	7. Epilogue

Two years had passed since Jonah Magnus’ retreat from society, and three further still since word of his death came out. Hardly anyone cared, as he was a cruel and selfish man who, despite the status his fortune afforded him, was hated by most, if not all, of the townsfolk. 

Sasha and Tim remained married, though Sasha had discreetly moved out of Crowtree hall, having taken to travelling the continent with Helen. The pair left for months at a time, providing Jon and Tim plenty of time to themselves, and, as far as Sasha was aware, they were happy. 

Jon had since settled in at Crowtree, enjoying the freedom it provided from the memories of his life with his uncle. Both he and Tim smiled more than they had previously, and Sasha was overjoyed that her plan had seemingly been working.

It should be noted, however, that, soon after Jon was out of mourning, he and Martin had a long and difficult conversation. The pair spent a full night discussing their brief kiss, which neither had spoken word of to anyone after it happened, both having regretted it immediately after the realization of what had been done settled upon them like a heavy blanket of snow. Martin’s engagement to Miss Herne, of whom he had grown rather close to as time wore on and their plans for the future were also discussed. 

They agreed that they ought to simply remain as close friends, who had, at one point, shared a kiss. Tim had suspected that something had happened between the pair, as Martin had been so hesitant to speak to Jon after the ball, and was unsurprised by the revelation. 

Jon and Tim had shared a conversation akin to that of him and Martin’s, in which Jon confessed to his transgressions, having made such an error that night alone. 

Tim had pursed his lips, betrayal evident in his eyes as Jon continued, explaining the mutual recognition of that error, and their desire to put the past behind them. 

Tim’s sole response to the explanation and pleas for forgiveness was the request, spoken in a tone more serious than any would have been accustomed to hearing from Tim, that Jon informs him of such an occurrence sooner, should it ever come to pass once more.

The air had been tense then in Crowtree hall for a few weeks after that, neither quite sure how best to proceed with one another, and neither quite willing to be the first to bridge the gap that had been unintentionally forming since. It was not so much that they wished to cut the other out of their life, moreover a fear of being vulnerable once more in light of the mistake. 

Their discomfort was very quickly remedied when Mrs Tonner and Mrs Hussain hosted a dinner party, at which point the married pair scolded them from ruining the intended jovial nature of the event. There was, of course, many other moments of doubt, a single gathering hardly enough to _truly_ rid a relationship of its complications, though it served as the catalyst for forgiveness, an occasion simultaneously so monumental and so mundane as to be seared into their memories.

Tim wrote to Sasha, detailing his anxieties, his hopes, and his reservations, to which she responded in kind, her own relationship having had its ups and downs in the time she had been away. She comforted him, unable to promise that things would turn out in the end, but unwilling to let her best friend stew in his thoughts. They shared a long hug the next time she returned to Longbourn and she was pleased to note that Sims and Stoker had grown considerably closer in the time since that initial conversation of regrets.

Sasha knew that it hurt Tim, though he knew that nothing would come of it, least of all then, as Moorland welcomed its newest resident, Miss Naomi Herne.

Martin had, for all his desires to break away from the unmoving ideals of the Lukas family, in the end, chosen to accept his place as the heir, and all of which it would entail. He had not done so to please his uncle, something of which he very well may have done before meeting the Stoker’s and their company, but he did so out of love for the newfound friendship he had built with Naomi. 

The pair had grown quite close, and Martin had found that he genuinely enjoyed his time spent in her company. They were not in love, however, and their obligations to be wed hardly did anything to sway them from taking up lovers of their own. 

Sasha, when she visited, could tell that they were happy, something of which she was immeasurably pleased to discover. She wished them all the best in their life together, as the pair of friends deserved a break from the Lukas family’s prying eyes.

There had been two major weddings that year, the first between the Lukas heir and the widow, and the second, between Miss King and Miss Barker. The Lukas ceremony was, by all accounts a beautiful event, but, similarly, in comparison to a Stoker ball, it hardly shone as brightly in the memories of its attendants as that of Georgie and Melanie.

Melanie and Georgie’s wedding was an event to remember, and few would forget it soon.

——

Sasha and Helen had just returned from their travels to Greece when Tim gave her a letter that had, as if by sheer chance, arrived for her that morning. Typically, Sasha would indicate her newest address in her responses to the letters that she received while she was away from Crowtree, and so the four current residents found it to be quite peculiar that that letter should beat her home. 

The letter, addressed to Sasha, was from the Magnus Institute, of all places, of which Mr. Lukas had taken up the role as its Head in the wake of Jonah’s death. The institute had shied away from the public eye ever since, then more commonly operating in the background as the world moved on around it. 

_My dear Mrs Stoker,_

_It is with my humblest of hearts that I write to you today, requesting your assistance in a matter of great urgency. In the years since Mr. Jonah Magnus has passed, I have dutifully taken up the responsibility of running the institute in his stead, though I fear that the years have passed me by much too quickly for comfort. It would be my greatest pleasure to offer this role to you, as you were, in your time in the institute’s employ, Magnus’ best researcher._

_It may be unconventional, but I believe that you have the spirit required to continue the legacy that has been left without an heir. Should it be no bother, I should like to meet with you to discuss the terms of this position._

_With the warmest of regards,_

_Mr. Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute_

Sasha dropped the letter, hardly believing what she had seen. Tim raised an eyebrow in her direction as she picked the letter up off the table and read it once more. The words hadn’t changed.

“Tim, Mr. Lukas is stepping down from his position at the Magnus Institute. He has requested that I take his place.” She muttered, handing the letter to her best friend. He began reading silently to himself, and Sasha could hardly help but study him; it had been far too long that they’d been apart.

Sasha had missed Tim dearly during her recent travels, having been gone for very nearly eight months, touring the continent and many other fine places. It was not that she had grown tired of the freedom afforded to her when travelling, quite the opposite in fact, as she and Helen drew nearer to one another’s hearts as the days went on. It was, however, that Sasha missed having someone of whom she could confide in without hesitation or bias. 

Sasha was glad to be home, as sharing her tales, her dreams, and her secrets hardly felt the same written in a letter as it did spoken aloud in the confidence of another. She had been anxiously awaiting the return of those nights spent in the library, telling each other all manner of things, confessions, tall tales, and everything in between; of the meals taken in the company of all of their dearest friends; of quiet afternoon teas in the garden.

Her musings were cut short as Jon entered the room, hardly the flurry of movement that seemed so distant a memory then as he sat down in a chair on the other side the room, his nose firmly lodged in a book. He had taken up reading once more, having let his love of words fall by the wayside when his uncle pressed him too far into his studies.

Sasha had hardly seen what was directly in front of her then. Had she chosen to ignore the snide remarks made by Jon’s uncle? Had she even noticed? The questions swirled in her mind, guilt mixing with shame in a nauseating concoction in the pit of her stomach. Sasha hadn’t known, but she knew she could not remain silent when something of that sort happened again, for it surely would as time went on. 

After a moment, her mind shifted gently to her memories of before everything that had transpired. It felt as though an eternity had passed since the day in which Georgie and Jon had spent the afternoon in the garden with the Stokers and the day in which the other’s spent the evening in the company of all for supper.

The night of the Blackwood ball was a blur in her recollections, but she recalled the smiling face of Martin when she invited him to the park. She supposed that may very well have been the first genuine invitation he had received until that point in his residence in Longbourn.

“Well,” Tim considered, his words breaking Sasha out of the spell her mind had fallen under moments before. He smiled when her mind returned to the world beyond her thoughts, having missed the way his oldest friend wandered as she spoke. “I suppose you have a decision to be making, Sasha.”

Jon perked up at this, having only then noticed the Stoker’s sitting no more than an arm's length from where he rested. “Is this pertaining to the letter sent for you this morning?”

Sasha nodded, having greatly missed Jon’s way of going about asking questions. It was rare to find someone so clear in their intentions, in their emotions, and in their convictions as Jon was.

“Mr. Lukas wishes for me to take his place as Head of the Magnus Institute.” She said, testing the waters of that topic, as Jon was still, and rightfully so, quite tense about any topics relating to his uncle. 

Jon glanced down, studying the book now resting discarded in his lap. “I have quite intentionally removed myself from that horrible place, as I am certain Mr. Lukas is aware. I promise you I have no desire to contest your promotion to the role. By all accounts, you have more claim to it than any one of us.”

Sasha nodded slowly, having, admittedly, not expected that as a response, though it was understandable. Of course, Jon would have little interest in carrying on his uncle’s legacy, the pair having parted under less than ideal circumstances. Jon had made it clear that it was incredibly difficult to forgive the person who claimed to have been planning to usurp control over his faculties, and who had later decided, in his stead, to take Jon’s friend hostage. She suspected that Jon would hardly care should the institute burn unceremoniously to the ground, which, had he not been so vocal in his distaste for the building, would have been evidence enough of his disinterest in taking over.

Sasha nodded, thanking Jon for his words.

“I presume you would be required to lessen the frequency of your travels?” Tim inquired, uncertainty clear in his words. 

“I hardly intend to stop, and I have no desire to intrude upon your comfort,” Sasha responded, though her words were serious, her amusement was clear in the air. “Helen has been pushing in recent months for us to buy a house of our own. I hardly see why we cannot have a second place to call home.” 

Sasha sent out her response to Mr. Lukas later that afternoon.

——

A few weeks later, Sasha entered the Magnus Institute, her new role as the Head a bit more daunting than she cared to admit, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. 

She greeted Rosie on her way in, who’s face lit up at the sight of her old co-worker. Rosie waved, her voice a joyful lilt as she spoke. “Miss James, I am so pleased to see you again. The institute has hardly been the same in your absence.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Rosie. I have quite missed our early morning conversations in my time away.” Sasha replied, continuing on her path to her new office, the spacious one on the first floor, of which had once belonged to the previous Heads of the Institute. 

Sasha pulled open the door, a rush of cool air rushing out as she did. The room had been empty for many years, Mr. Magnus’ belongings long since having been cleared out, replaced by the detachment of Mr. Lukas’ presence until that day. 

Sasha had plans for not only the new space but for the Institute as a whole. Things would take a while, they always did, but she had the fullest of intentions in turning the organization’s reputation around. She moved around the room, studying the space. Sasha did not want the office, as too many memories flitted through her thoughts as she walked. 

Rosie knocked on the door, her expression one of curiosity and confusion at the still empty space before her.

“Miss James,” she began, gripping a small stack of books under her arm. “Is everything to your liking?”

Sasha glanced at her, knowing that her friend, for Rosie could truly be considered one, would be well aware if she attempted to lie. Sasha hummed for a moment before responding.

“I fear that I would be quite bothersome in making such a request,” Sasha rambled, trying to piece together her thoughts. “Is my old office currently in use?”

Rosie’s brow furrowed for a moment, puzzling out what had been inquired about. After a beat, she shook her head, explaining that it had remained unused, save for hosting occasional meetings, since she had left.

“I am well aware of how unconventional it may seem, though if I am to be quite frank, the entirety of this situation has been such.” Sasha took a breath, unsure of why she was suddenly so anxious. “I believe that I would like to use that space instead, this one is awfully cold for my tastes.” 

Rosie nodded quickly, before rushing off to acquire the key for the abandoned space. 

When she returned, the pair quickly made their way to the second floor and began the preparations to fill the office. Sasha spent the afternoon decorating her office, pleased to be somewhere familiar.

They decided to repurpose the old Head’s office as a storage room, the size of the room providing ample space to hold administrative files and the like, as it hardly warranted being used for much else.

——

Sasha returned home that evening, having spent the day in a hurried state of disorder, attempting to become properly acquainted with the new staff, updating long out of date policies, and dealing with complaints leftover from the Lukas era. She was, ultimately, unprepared for the role, though her desire to remain in closer contact with her friends helped her to disregard that. She could hardly complain about the fresh air filling the halls with new life, the faces of her staff alight with intrigue. 

When she returned to the Stoker house, Sasha was met with a startling sight. All of her friends had gathered themselves in the sitting room, a slew of celebratory congratulations thrown her way as she entered.

The sitting room was a pleasant place to be, warm and welcoming after a long day of work. Inside sat two sofas facing one another parallel to the door, a table resting between them. There were a few chairs dotting the perimeter, all occupied by members of Sasha’s circle of friends. 

Georgie and Melanie sat comfortably beside one another on the sofa to the right, having claimed a plate of biscuits as their own to share, disregarding the small pout on Martin’s face, who sat across from them. Beside him sat Naomi, of whom Sasha had recently been in contact with, and had found to be quite the interesting conversationalist. Basira and Daisy sat beside the pair, engrossed in a conversation with the newest member of their group. Helen was sitting comfortably beside Jon, though still on the sofa, and Jon sat facing Tim in a chair pulled over by the fireplace, watching his lover with rapt attention as he greeted his best friend.

Tim stood in the centre, gripping a bottle of champagne, a proud smile gracing his face. He cleared his throat, gathering the attention of his guests as he distributed the refreshments. 

“I believe a toast is in order,” he began, grinning once everyone had a glass. “To my dearest friend, and to new beginnings. May we all find peace with the decisions that we have made.”

The group raised their glasses, looking eagerly to the future in the company of one another. 


	8. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the wonderful artwork created by @ilana.draws on Instagram!  
> (https://www.instagram.com/ilana.draws/)
> 
> Textures used:  
> (wallpaper) https://www.pexels.com/photo/blue-and-green-color-abstract-painting-3609832/  
> (plaster) https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-painted-wall-1939485/


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